I want the K
by exosolarmoonlight
Summary: A collection of tumblr prompted kiss ficlets/oneshots. Most fall into the T range - the rating is for the few that aren't. Ladynoir / Adrinette / Marichat / Ladrien
1. Romantic Kiss

**series beta'd by mirthalia!**

Rating: soft T

* * *

7\. Romantic Kiss

Chat took a deep, steadying breath and turned to his partner, pulling his feet from over the edge of the roof and sitting on them, tea-ceremony-style. He rested his hands on his knees.

"Listen."

She looked away from the skyline, kicking her heels, sunlight caught in her hair and her eyelashes. "Yeah?"

"I want to kiss you."

"You do?" she teased. "Wow, I never would have guessed."

"And," he continued, refusing to be daunted by her lackadaisical grin. "I have a list of reasons why you should let me."

A girlish giggle, not unkind, but not very encouraging, either. "Reasons I should let you kiss me?"

"Yes."

"All right," she said, pulling her legs up from over the ledge to face him fully in the same position, a knowing, _teasing_ little smile playing around the corners of her lips. "Lets hear 'em."

"Could you take this a _little bit_ seriously?" he growled, slumping. He was pretty sure he'd been blushing for the last ten minutes (aka, when he'd decided to try to go for it – the worst she could say was 'no,' right?) and it was _embarrassing_. He didn't need her and her unshakeable cool right now, except that he did, because she was the entire point of this.

"I am!"

Chat was dubious.

"Okay, okay," she said, nibbling her lip 'til it flushed. That damnable teasing smirk never faded. "If I approve of your reasons, I'll let you kiss me. How does that sound?"

Better than he was expecting. Far better.

"Okay," he said, taking a wobbly breath. He was suddenly much more nervous now that there was a chance, however slight, that he might actually get his kiss. "Okay."

She cocked her head, still carefree and casual.

"Okay," he said again, clearing his throat. He opened his mouth to voice his first reason, but chickened out before he made a sound. He shut his mouth again, face on fire. Why had he thought this was a good idea again?

"The first reason?" Ladybug prompted, slowly cocking her head to the other side.

"Th-…"– _Oh god why_ –"The first reason…"

"Okay."

He blinked. "What?"

"Okay," she said, as though it was obvious. "I've heard enough."

Chat spluttered. "You haven't even heard the first reason yet!"

"Don't need to," she sang, swaying close enough to smell, that smile never once faltering.

"But-"

"Don't need to."

" _But_ -"

"Chat."

He sighed. So much for that plan.

"Chat." She poked his shoulder, eyes sparkling with suppressed mirth. "I said ' _okay_.'"

Oh.

"As in…" he trailed off in confusion. "As in 'I can kiss you?'"

"Mmhm!"

"But you haven't heard my reasons!"

He had a list! He'd memorized that list! She couldn't just _give_ this to him; that wasn't how they worked!

"Don't need 'em."

"But the list!"

"Chat."

"And-and why? I mean you never want to kiss me normally, why would you just-"

"Chat."

"Ladybug, you're not following the pattern here, and I'm not-"

" _Chat_."

"What?" he snapped, head swimming from all the blood that was rushing to his face.

She was still smiling that damnable little smile, sweet and teasing and knowing, and it _just wasn't fair_ that she could stop his heart like this. It just _wasn't._

"Shut up and kiss me, you dumb cat."

He deflated. "Right."

She tilted her head back and shut her eyes, expectant, and his breath hitched. The brush of her eyelashes over the mask was hypnotic, taunting him with her beautiful mystery, her elegant grace, her unshakable calm, everything that made him desperate to know what she was like under it all: who she was when she slipped, when she flustered, when she was half asleep at noon or wide-awake at midnight.

He didn't know those things, but he knew that she was kind, powerful, brave — that she was the driving force behind _them_ , his best friend, his savior, his guiding light. That she was sitting right in front of him, lips pouted in anticipation of the kiss she wanted from him.

She wanted a kiss from him.

He swallowed heavily, leaning in, uncurling from his seiza, eyes fluttering shut on instinct.

Soft.

Her lips were soft.

They curled into a smile under his, a warm teasing grin he was allowed to touch, to taste, to take in at his leisure, and he did. Touched and tasted and stroked with his own mouth, a fumbling first kiss for the both of them.

"Chat," she sighed against his lips, infinitely delicate, infinitely precious, and he swallowed it like a last meal, feeling it slide down his throat and pool in his stomach — a favor that felt like love in this moment, destined to burn in the next.

He hummed, cradling her head to keep it close, stroking her cheek to let her know that this was his heart she held in the flickers of air, the slick noises between the two of them, in the aftertaste of the bakery goods going stale in the picnic basket behind them.

"I was waiting for you," she whispered, wrecking him with five words and the soft touch of her fingertips stroking his nape.

 _Oh._

 _Oh, oh, oh, oh…_

"I'm glad you're here, with me," she admitted next, sliding her palm down his chest to rest over his rabbit heart. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

He sucked her lower lip between the two of his, needing to stop the flow of her words before they killed him. His heart couldn't go much faster; there was a breaking point somewhere, but he didn't want to find it, not here, not now with gloves between her skin and his touch, not with masks keeping them just short of absolute trust.

She was undaunted.

"You're… you're my _heart_ , Chat."

Oh.

"…I-"

 _No._

" _I love you_ ," he cut over her, because he could hear where that sentence was going.

Not yet, not now, not here.

" _I love you, I love you, I love you._ "

He loved her, and he couldn't accept hers like this.

He pulled back.

She blinked at him, surprised, and then the surprise faded into something wry and understanding.

"Silly kitty," she whispered, bringing a hand up to tap his nose. "I'll love whoever you are, I promise."


	2. Collarbone Kiss (puppeteer I)

Rating: heavy T

* * *

11\. Collarbone Kiss

Heart going sixty miles a minute, Marinette gasped for air as Chat broke the kiss. Her fingernails scrabbled at the wall behind her, desperate for purchase to help support her weight because god knew her knees were buckling badly enough that she'd collapse without it.

Chat nuzzled her ear, down her neck, tracing wet, hot little patterns over her wild pulse with his tongue. His hands slid up the backs of her thighs, lifting her feet off the ground and pressing her hips into the painfully rough stonework behind her, nudging her stance wider so he could pin her there with his weight.

She cried out, legs winding around his waist automatically, instinctively, raw heat searing her blood and pulsing an animalistic beat straight down to her marrow.

He moved one hand up to cradle her head, claws sharpening to snap her hair free of its binds and then dulled again to tangle in her loose locks without fear.

His hand fisted in her hair and gave a sharp tug, forcing her to bare her throat, and he ducked below it to her collarbone.

She cried out again, louder, when he bit her, rough incisors dragging over the delicate skin there with surprising gentleness — no intent to harm, just to make her _feel_.

Feel she did, enough to make her hips jerk violently, still trapped between his and the wall. The sticky summer air felt like a cold winter wind where it hit her overheated flesh.

He sucked the spot he'd bitten, alternately scraping it with his teeth and laving his tongue over it in apology, and she was absolutely sure he was going to eat her alive.

After an indeterminable amount of time, he finally let go, pressing a perfectly sweet kiss over the mark she was certain he'd just given her.

He pulled back to take a look at her, at her kiss-blushed lips and her disheveled hair and her blown pupils and her heaving chest and the bright red hickey on her collarbone, and _smirked_.

"Miss me, Princess?"


	3. Stomach Kiss

Rating: K+

* * *

13: Stomach Kiss

She hadn't thought he'd take the news so well.

She knew he had insecurities about his upbringing from here to the Seine and back. She'd expected meltdowns and midnight nightmares. She'd worried that he would withdraw, pull into himself, fret and panic and push her away. The most she'd hoped for was for him to take it calmly, with grace — to stay open with her and to the possibilities.

She hadn't expected this.

She hadn't expected the excited chatter or the honest enthusiasm. She hadn't expected the stacks of pregnancy books to start piling up by their bedside or the little onesies to make their way into their shopping cart. She hadn't expected to wake up to fevered kisses, little prayers and _thank you_ s and _I love you_ s pressed into her nape, across the breadth of her shoulders.

She hadn't expected this, but the more she thinks about it, the more she thinks that maybe she should have.

He loves kids, loves playing with them and listening to them and working with them in his shoots. Mamon had adored him back in their teenage years, had eagerly asked when Marinette would babysit with him next, had begged to spend time with the three of them together.

(Maybe the look on his face whenever she'd caved to Mamon's pleas should have been hint enough.)

A tug on the book in her hands broke Marinette out of her reverie (she had been looking over the same paragraph for ages now without really reading it), and she glanced up to see her husband gently drawing it loose.

"Hey," she protested, quiet and sleepy and not all that bothered.

He gave her a wry grin. "What chapter were you on?" he asked, freeing the book and waving it with a finger trapped between the pages she'd stopped on.

She leaned forward to see if she could spy the page, but he twitched it away from her, scolding, "Ah ah ah ah ah!"

She fell, a dramatic collapse on her mountain of pillows braced against the headboard, then pouted and made a guess. "Eight?"

He checked. "Ten."

"Darn," she giggled, giving up the book and going for Adrien instead.

"Ah, your page-" he warned, bracing himself on the pillow mountain and holding her book out of firing range as she twined her arms around his neck and pulled.

"Leave it," she murmured, nuzzling his neck with a happy little sigh. She'd have to reread it anyway; it wasn't like she'd registered any of those last few pages.

"You say that _now_ ," he grumbled, returning the nuzzle.

"Mmhmm…" she purred, warm inside and out and seduced by the embrace of this muffled, exclusive little bubble of _them_.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, soft and sweet, then pulled away and pressed a kiss to the slight swell of her abdomen.

"I love you," he whispered — to it or to her or to them both, Marinette didn't know.

It didn't matter. He loved them, and they loved him. The rest was all semantics.

"'Love you too."


	4. Kiss in the Rain

Rating: K+

* * *

15: Kiss in the Rain

It was pure impulse. Pure impulse that had her shedding her shoes and socks and overshirt, leaving them on the bench of the little bus stand she and Adrien had found in their rush for cover. Pure impulse that had her rolling up her pant legs to Adrien's confused questioning.

"What are you doing?" he wondered at her, braced against the corner of their shelter, and she could only giggle, intoxicated by the rush of the sky falling down around them.

She unwound her hair ties next, because wet ponytails were a murder to untangle, and fluffed her hair to get it to settle on her scalp now that it was free of its bindings.

"Mari-" She heard his breath catch and looked over her shoulder, curious.

He was staring at her — at her unbound hair, her thin, white T-shirt, her bare feet — wide-eyed and flushed.

 _Oh_ , she thought, looking away and biting her lip, pleased, a partner flush heating her cheeks and neck.

A crack of thunder reminded her of her original purpose, and she removed her wallet and phone, stuffing them under the tiny pile of her discarded clothing.

Valuables stored, she turned and walked up to the edge of the dry part of their shelter, next to Adrien.

She met his eye and held it, grinning at his bafflement, as she turned around and walked backwards into the downpour.

The water hit her hard, sharp and cold, nature's absolution for their filthy city. Raindrops bypassed her hair, falling straight to her scalp and trickling down to her temples, her ears, her neck, and she glanced up at the sky, beaming for the simple joy of being alive for this, of being so privileged to stand in the midst of this cleansing, this redemption and resurrection.

The sky was as black as it had been for days now, threatening and threatening for so long she'd stopped taking it seriously and started taking risks.

She tripped backwards, stumbling over her own two feet as she twirled, dancing in the false twilight like a child. Laughing, admiring the shimmering lights of the window displays and streetlights, the fairytale quality they gave her polluted, ancient, living city, the magic in the glitter of false gold they paved over the streets.

She spun to a stop and took a running leap at a puddle that had been calling her name for far too long, and they met like television lovers, sweet embrace gracing the soles of her bare feet and giving way to the jarring cacophonic crash that ends it all, sprays of dirty water catching the fairy-light landscape in a hundred different kaleidoscopic ways, a catastrophe in technicolor.

She slowed to a halt, the analogy of lovers reminding her of Adrien, and of the fact that he wasn't out here with her.

He was watching her, she saw when she looked. Watching her with a lonely kind of yearning, the sort of yearning sported by children denied what was rightly theirs: companionship and imagination and play. And she could see the boy he used to be — the boy he was still, at times, the one that had been told 'no' once, twice, a hundred times too many — and it made her sick to her stomach.

She held her arms out, an open invitation that she resented needing to give, hating that he needed to be told that he could join her in childish abandon.

She could see his surprise from where she stood, and she crooked her fingers, smiling a little more, a little added incentive, a little bit of _'because I want you here.'_

Her partner took a slow step out into the rain, then flinched violently and jumped back, glaring at the black sky, and she laughed, laughed and laughed and _laughed_ , because of course that would happen, of course he would forget that the rain was wet, _of course_.

Her silly, unlucky kitty.

By the time she looked up, he'd switched his glare to her.

She almost, _almost_ rubbed the back of her head in sheepish apology, but thought better of it at the last second. Instead, she clasped her hands behind her back and ducked like a bird, met his eye, and stuck her tongue out in challenge.

 _'Mad? Come and get me.'_

His glare broke on a startled laugh that she could hear even over the white noise of the rain. Tripping out to join her, he took her up on her challenge, braving the water.

She was proud of him.

He met her in a splash of the puddle she'd deemed her castle, and folded his arms, bent down to her so they were almost nose to nose. Kaleidoscopic water droplets clung to the tips of his hair, and his eyes shone like apples, like freshly-cut grass, like sea-polished glass, like things natural and alive and organic, her fairytale prince and her incoming catastrophe in technicolor.

"Enjoying my pain, my lady?"

"Me?" she asked, grinning. " _Never_."

And she splashed him with her ankle-deep puddle- castle.

His reaction did not disappoint. He spluttered wildly, giving her the most betrayed look she'd ever seen in her life.

She smirked.

His eyes narrowed.

She decided to make a run for it while she still could.

He chased her down, following up on her declaration of watery war with a happy yell.

They crashed through dirty puddles and tried not to slip on the slick sidewalks, dancing about the bus shelter, two teenagers playing like _teenagers_ and having the time of their lives in the sheeting rain.

She was wheezing by the end of it, choking on her laughter, gasping for air and soaked to the bone, numb and cold and warm and happy. Happy to spend her day like this, here, with him, watching the shadows fade from his eyes and the tension roll off his back.

She stumbled to a stop, giggling, turning to call a halt to this game of theirs, and he caught her wrist.

She only had time to blink the rain off her eyelashes before his mouth was on hers, pressing chill and chaste and grateful and _electric_.

She gasped, arching into it, rising up on her toes to get closer, closer, _closer_ – and he broke away.

She whined and chased him, _no wait I wasn't_ _ **done**_ , and he laughed.

"Come on," he said, breathy and soft. "We're soaked. Let's go home."

She pouted, denied satisfaction, and followed him back to her belongings.

She decided she'd just have to steal a goodnight kiss in return.


	5. Neck Kiss (puppeteer II)

Rating: hard T

* * *

10: Neck Kiss

The thought that _maybe he shouldn't be doing this_ is a very distant one, one he can barely hear over the rush of blood in his ears and the slick noises of their mouths meeting and parting in heated rhythm.

He hadn't intended to come back.

Last time had been an accident. A little harmless flirting turned not so harmless after all, smoldering looks and smothered frustration catching light like a brushfire with a single comment. Still in costume, he'd cornered her behind her home and waited for her to tell him to stop.

She hadn't.

This time it was seeing Marinette in class the day after their rendezvous, witnessing her touching the mark, _his mark_ , over her clothing where he knew it still lingered, the cant of her lips secret and sly and pleased.

He hadn't intended to come back.

He hadn't intended to let that voyeuristic little moment burrow its way into his brain all day, eating up every other thought until he couldn't _function_ for thinking about her, her touch, her kiss, the ravished look that had been in her eyes when he'd finally stopped.

He hadn't intended to come back, but here he was in costume yet again, trapping her in an alley behind their school, letting her mottle his skin with her wonderful, _wonderful_ mouth.

 _Photoshoot._

She was pressing her lips to his neck, right below the corner of his jaw, and his skin raised in gooseflesh from head to toe. He groaned low in his throat and tipped his head back, arching, involuntarily begging _more more more more oh god please._

He had a photoshoot.

He had a _photoshoot_ in _two hours_ , and he needed to get her away from his neck before she did something that would get him cross-examined by every authority figure in his life.

In his momentary distraction, she moved away from nibbling at his adam's apple to sink her teeth into the firmer flesh below his ear. It wasn't soft or gentle or sweet, just pure, raw heat backed by a spark of pain.

That spark was what he needed to finally push her back against the wall, even as it lit up his every nerve ending like a runway in response.

She fought him for a moment, protesting the interruption, but eventually got the message and leaned back.

He let go of her as soon as he was sure she wasn't going to slip under his guard again, and set his hands on either side of her head against the wall, propping himself up and sucking air back into his straining lungs.

Denied the pleasure of making him lose his mind with her touch, Marinette turned to words instead.

"So you can dish it out but you can't take it, _hero?_ " she taunted, sparkling cerulean eyes darkened into sapphire. She sounded downright _debauched_.

He was distantly aware that his claws had punched straight through the cement behind her head at the title.

 _Civilian_ , he reminded himself. _Delicate civilian_. He couldn't do what he desperately wanted to do in that moment because she was a _civilian_ , and she'd _break_ if he touched her too roughly.

"Ma-ma-mar-ahhhh- _marks_ ," he wheezed, fumbling the words and trembling head to toe from the effort of holding back. He swallowed heavily, lungs on fire. "Se-cret… secret iden—"

She dragged her nails over his back, just hard enough that he could just feel them through the leather, and he gasped, tingling shock seizing his muscles up tight.

Never in his _life_ had he hated an inanimate object quite as much as he hated his suit in that moment.

"— _iden_ -tity, _princess_. I have one, you doh-h—... you don't."

"Hmm," was all she said, lips curving into something dark, something _predatory_ , something he never once dreamed he'd see on sweet, _innocent_ Marinette's face.

She tucked those those lips into the 'v' of his collar, touching him with a hint of teeth, a hint of threat, against his pulse, and hooked two fingers around his bell to get at more of his neck.

The faint, slow clicking of his zipper (how could she even _do_ that? It was supposed to be _fused to his skin_ ) could be exactly timed to the rate of deterioration of Chat's sanity.

"Guess I just can't leave a mark, then."


	6. Kiss Along the Hips (puppeteer III) (M)

Rating: M

* * *

14: Kiss Along the Hips

His first love bite was fading.

It was only a faint discoloration, now, a slightly darker pink than the healthy (tantalizing) flush of her skin.

It dug at the primal, irrational parts of him, the ones that said, 'she no longer bears your mark, so she is no longer yours.

It was silly. Stupid.

She'd never been 'his.'

But, when he'd been able to see that little physical proof of their first kiss, that had been all he could think about, the highlight in his every fantasy — Marinette with his mark, his kiss, his _claim_ branded into her skin like ownership.

No one could own Marinette, but _fuck_ if the thought of her only ever doing this with _him_ didn't make his blood run hot and cold and—

He wanted to have that again.

Marinette objected.

"K-K-Kitty, st— _ah!_ Sto— _wait_ —"

She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled hard.

The wet noise of his mouth parting from the skin of her collarbone stuck under his skin like a drug. The pain pinpricking his scalp only added fuel to his fire. He let out a heartfelt groan, hips grinding into the bed of their own accord.

" _Chat_."

"Wh-… Wha—…" he panted, barely able to see straight for the chemical concoction of _Marinette_ flowing through his veins.

"C-c'mon," she panted right back, eyes glazed and chest brushing up against his collarbone with every inhale. "Do you re-really want the entire world to know you've been k-kissing _me?_ "

There's a strange cadence to that question that he can't parse, something self-deprecating mixing with the arousal, but he's having trouble forming coherent words after hearing 'want the entire world to know' in that rich rasp that he'd turned her voice into.

 _He'd_ done that.

 _He_ had.

 _Him_.

Adrien Agreste.

Chat Noir.

 _He'd done that._

Did he want to let the entire world know he'd some way, somehow, been given the opportunity to kiss Marinette Dupain-Cheng nearly senseless?

 _Yes, hell yes, fuck yes, please oh god oh_ _ **fuck yes**_ _._

She must have read his answer in his eyes from the awkward position she held his head in, because she blushed darker and opened her mouth.

She hesitated, then said, "Well." And she shifted her gaze to the side, the first hint he'd seen all night of the shy schoolgirl he knew out-of-costume. "I happen to like having you as my dirty little secret."

Her rasp darkened into something downright filthy on the last three words, eyes sliding up to meet his, and the combination left him breathless, antsy, _frantic_ , helpless desire searing him from head to toe.

His mouth crashed into hers only slightly by design, lust-addled and feeling like he'd completely lost any self control he may have ever had.

She arched, moaning into the kiss, sweet and fluttery and feminine and so utterly _satisfying_ it had him begging for more, pushing her deeper into her bank of pillows, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand and sliding his other up her body.

He caught his claws in her nightshirt, dragging it up to expose the soft, delicate, sweet-smelling skin of her hip and stomach, and wrenched himself away from her mouth.

He paused there, distracted by the stars swimming in his eyes, then by the ones glittering in hers, then by her wetly glistening cherry-red lips, then the flushed skin of her throat, its lean, graceful lines and vulnerable state.

His gaze dragged lower of its own accord, to the dip of her cleavage to her covered-but-unbound breasts, her nipples pushing up against the fabric of her nightshirt and shifting under it with every breath she took. Below that hypnotic sight, the material of her nightshirt was bunched up over her ribcage, revealing—

Oh, right.

He released her wrists and slid down her lithe form, bringing both his hands to her hips.

She clutched at his shoulders but failed to even _attempt_ to push him away, and he took that as permission to hook his thumbs in her sleep shorts and pull them dangerously low on her hips.

Her thigh jumped up to block him from removing them entirely; pointlessly, seeing as they were as low as he needed them to be already, but he took that as a signal to let go and cradle her now-bare hips instead.

"What-" she squeaked, face scarlet, hands clutching at his leather-clad shoulders even tighter.

His shifting of her clothing had revealed the tips of the 'V' where her thighs met her hips, and he had to take a couple of deep breaths and swallow a few times before he could speak.

"I'll just have to leave a mark where the world won't see it, then," he said. He couldn't recognize his own voice, it was so far gone, his smug leer nearly overpowered by unsteady, helpless desire.

He got to see her eyes go wide in the split second it took him to start sucking the lowest point of the 'V' he'd revealed.

"Ah!" Marinette nearly shouted. She clapped her hand to her mouth and arched, writhing against his grip, and he could only hold her tighter, instincts screaming at him to _just take her already_.

Musk, salt, sweat. His mouth watered, tongue laving to taste. He tried to set a rhythm, a pattern, _suck, lick, suck, bite_ , but her hips twitched and jumped with every touch, breathy little moans punctuating her heavy panting, and he couldn't keep track of _anything_ any more.

He drew back an indeterminable amount of time later, the sound of Marinette's high, frustrated whine following his retreat. He looked up to check on her—

—and nearly choked on his tongue.

She was flushed all the way down her chest, the rosy top of a breast visible over the hem of her V-neck, eyes glazed, teary at the corners, lips bitten raw and left lust-slack, hair curled into ringlets at the edges and stuck to her temples with sweat, hands tangled in her wrinkled sheets…

"A mark for you alone, Princess," Chat croaked, trying not to be too obvious about the way he was cataloging the picture before him.

He was pretty sure he was failing.

He was also pretty sure he'd seen less suggestive sights in hentai manga.

 _Fuck_ , she looked like sex.

She…

She kicked him in the ribs.

He rolled off her, ardor cooling enough to let him think that he may have, possibly, taken this just a little bit too far.

"You are a _very bad kitty_." she said, stiff and frustrated and confirming his vague fears.

He winced. "I'm—"

"You can show yourself out," she informed him, still bright red and ravished. She wet her lips. "And don't come back tonight."

 _Tonight?_

He blinked at her.

"Tonight?"

She pointed up at her trap door, not looking him in the eye. " _Yes_ , tonight. You are on a twelve-hour ban. Now, _out_."

And with that, she rolled over, away from him, dragging her quilt over shoulder as she did so.

He looked at her exposed ears and neck, both just the right shade of bright pink to match her new blanket cocoon, and decided to show himself out.

He was _not_ looking forward to the trip home.


	7. Upside-Down Kiss

Rating: K+/soft T

* * *

16: Upside-Down Kiss

"Well, that was pointless."

Together, Ladybug and Chat Noir watched the circus pack up from the top of a nearby building, each nursing their dignity after finding out the true nature of the 'akuma' they'd pursued halfway across Paris.

"Not so pointless," Chat proposed, holding up a finger.

Ladybug cocked her head, curious.

"You're here, I'm here, and we've got the whole night ahead of us," he pointed out. He made a gesture with his Miraculous-hand (a full paw–neither of them had had need to use either of their signature moves), hopeful little grin lighting his eyes.

Ladybug's stomach fluttered.

"What are you suggesting?" she asked, going for 'casual' and achieving 'mildly annoyed.'

Oops.

(Why was her voice always the first thing to go around people she found attractive.)

(…and didn't it just _bite_ that Chat, ridiculous, flirty, silly _Chat_ , had been moved into that category.)

He grinned, completely unaffected. "Patrol!"

"Patrol." Ladybug actually meant to sound unimpressed that time. Patrol for what?

"Patrol for akuma!" he said, answering her unspoken question with a grandiose gesture as he turned and strutted to the edge of the roof.

"Patrol for akuma," she parroted flatly, following the shift of the muscles in his back almost unwillingly. ( _Almost_ being the key word there.)

"We need to keep the city _safe_ , my lady," he reminded her, carefully careless, charming grin tossed over his shoulder like it was nothing.

She folded her arms against the traitorous _thump_ of her heart. "And you think patrolling will help."

"Of course," he said, mock debonair, putting his hands on his hips. "How else will we find them?"

By listening for the screams, like they always did?

He wasn't even _trying_ to convince her that akuma were his true reason _._

He didn't give her a chance to voice either thought.

"Race you to the 'tower!" he called out gleefully, backing up and taking a running leap over the edge of the roof.

"Wha- _hey!_ " she squawked, stamping her foot in pique. "Get back here! That's cheating!"

His laughter echoed back to her through the onset of dusk.

She charged after him after only the barest of hesitations, failing to convince herself that she was actually annoyed. Her face ached from smothering her own grin and her feet may as well have had wings for how light they were and her stomach bubbled warm like she'd drunk a glass of champagne, and, she couldn't lie, it all felt just a little like _infatuation_.

* * *

She saw the slip coming from a mile away.

Really, what did her kitty expect with his luck, walking on his hands along the narrow peak of the roof, showing off like that? He wasn't even _pretending_ this was patrol anymore.

It was a good thing she saw it, too, because that way she was prepared with yo-yo in hand when he fell, snagging his bicep with a neat toss so she could guide his fall to the _side_ of the roof rather than letting him snap his neck on the ridge.

He skidded backwards down the shingles, yelping.

She released his arm only when she was sure he'd stopped, head dangling over the edge but otherwise supported by the roof. Then, she secured her line on the spire of the roof perpendicular to them, and swung over to him, bracing her legs against the wall of the building below him.

She wrapped her line around her arm to take the stress off her hands, and leaned over him, eyes narrowed. "This is what you get for showing off, you know."

"Thanks for the save," he greeted her, grateful and sheepish, bringing her attention to the fact that their faces were only about a foot apart..

She leaned back and looked away, stomach twisting up in warm little knots. "Anytime, Chat."

He sighed peacefully and made no move to get up, wild energy apparently eaten by his near-death-experience.

She tipped her head back to join him in looking at the midnight sky.

"The stars are beautiful tonight," she noted, smiling at the ones she could see through Paris's light pollution.

"Not as beautiful as your eyes."

She glanced down in surprise, to find him looking up at her with something that looked dangerously like sincerity in his eyes.

Her stomach jolted pleasantly.

 _When had his flirtations started working?_ she wondered helplessly, hoping that the night was enough to hide her blush.

When had his bad puns become the only surefire way to cheer her up? When had his swagger gone from eyeroll-worthy to cute, _attractive_ even? When had his proximity started to make her pulse race? When had she started wanting to kiss him? When had her heart surrendered?

 _But he wasn't serious_ was a fact that she had to remind herself of almost daily. He was never serious. He fired off lines like that to anyone he deemed even somewhat attractive. It wasn't anything special that he'd said it to her. It _wasn't._

(She thought that maybe he'd been serious, once upon a time, but that time had come and gone and her heart gotten with the program what felt like only seconds too late.)

"Is that your way of asking for a kiss?" she teased, discreetly swallowing the lump in her throat.

He grinned a playful, upside-down grin at her. "My lady, I would _never_. That would be downright gauche."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. _She_ could recall once or twice…

"However," he continued, raising his voice over the objection in her head. "If, and _only_ if my lady so desires, _I_ certainly wouldn't say no."

He topped it with a wink and tipped his head back to her, mouth offered.

She stared at the playful little smirk tucked into the corners of his mouth and _wanted_.

 _What was the worst that could happen?_ whispered her vices, her demons, her advocates.

 _The worst that could happen?_ she demanded of them. _He could laugh at her. He could mock her. He could reject her utterly, ruining their friendship forever!_

But even as she thought these things, she knew they weren't true. Chat wasn't the type. Truly the worst that would happen would be for her to end up spilling her heart and for him to, kindly but firmly, turn her down.

He wasn't serious, but he'd treat her seriously.

He wasn't serious, she realized suddenly, so maybe she didn't need to be either.

Just one kiss.

That's all she really wanted.

(That was a lie, but it was a nice one, so she let it be, and repeated it to herself a few times for good measure.)

She leaned in and pressed her mouth to his before she could lose her nerve.

He gasped, noise muffled by her lips, and it felt like a rush in her veins. She cupped the back of his head, pressed a little closer to kiss him a little better, a little deeper, needing this, needing him, just _needing_.

The shift in angle brought the top of his head to rest against her breasts, she noted distantly, fumbling around the mechanics of kissing upside-down. She wasn't very experienced in kissing in general, much less from an angle as odd as this.

His mouth moved slowly under hers, against hers, an automatic response or an intentional one, she didn't know, but it warmed and fizzed in the pit of her belly either way.

After an eternal moment, she broke the kiss.

She then had to wonder if she'd made a very large mistake. All she wanted to do now was kiss him again. And again. And again and again and again and…

"Careful, kitty," she breathed against his lips as she pulled away. "Tease like that and someone just might take you seriously one day."

 _And then you just might ruin them._

She let go of his head and swung herself up to land on the roof beside him in one smooth motion, not daring to look at his face, and sauntered to the edge that led to another rooftop close enough to jump.

"L-Ladybug?!"

She quickly stuffed any emotion that might have been showing on her face into a little box in her head entitled 'deal with later.' and turned to look at her partner.

He was bug-eyed with shock, scrambling to sit upright on his precarious perch, heedless of the danger. "Wh-what was…?"

Blushing. He was blushing. Her dork of a partner was _blushing_. Blushing hard enough to be seen in the low lamplight from the street below.

Ladybug felt something white-hot _burst_ in her chest. Something that felt a lot like _potential_.

All of her bravado fled in an instant.

"A warning," she said, licking the corner of her lip with a wink and praying it hid her sudden panic. "Race you to the Louvre!"

And, with that, she took a running leap over the edge, latching her yo-yo line midair.

"Wha- hey!" he yelped after her. "Ge-get back here! That's _cheating!_ "

Maybe she'd been lying to herself when she'd called this feeling infatuation, she thought, even as she laughed at his alley-cat yowl fading into the night behind her.


	8. Gentle Peck

Rating: heavy T

* * *

6: Gentle Peck

There were times when Marinette thought that perhaps, maybe, _possibly_ she's spent too much time with Chat Noir.

Like whenever she slipped up and said, "You've gotta be kitten me!" or, "Oh, that's pawful!" because Chat used cat puns so often she'd forgotten what the real words even were.

Like whenever she was in a stressful situation as Marinette and a corner of her brain kept waiting for him to show up and help; kept saying, 'don't worry, Chat will get here soon, just hang on!' and then got unreasonably disappointed and betrayed when he didn't.

Like whenever she spoke with Alya or Nino or Alix and dropped a lead-in and then waited for the awful pun or worse pick-up line, only to realize in the ensuing awkward silences that he wasn't there to follow up on the joke.

(Like whenever she woke up at three A.M. feeling warm and happy and _loved_ , only to realize she'd been dreaming of rooftops and eyes the wrong shade of green.)

But this was the final straw.

 _"What, no thank-you kiss for your savior, handsome boy?"_

She was never speaking to Chat Noir ever again.

 _Ever._

(Because obviously _he_ was the one responsible for rubbing off on her so much that that horrible _horrible_ pick-up line was there to fall from her lips, rather than the thousand-and-one daydreams she'd had in the past three years of being Ladybug and knowing Adrien.)

Adrien's eyes went wider than she'd ever seen them go before.

If Ladybug was capable of plucking those words out of the air and stuffing them back down her throat where they _belonged_ , she would have done so in a heartbeat.

Hell, she'd take it back _verbally_ if her brain hadn't been stuck in a feedback loop of ' _oh god oh god what the heck did I just say I didn't just say that did I_ _ **what the hell did I just say—**_ '

"I-I didn't think—" Adrien stuttered, breaking their silent stand-off and getting redder by the second.

 _Of course he didn't think, Marinette, you idiot! You just asked him to kiss you! What the hell?!_

She opened her mouth to tell him... _something_ , and completely blanked. What the hell would Ladybug say in a situation like this?!

 _Error: Ladybug-exe not found._

For that matter, what would _Marinette_ say?

 _Error: Marinette-exe not responding._

How had she gotten into this mess in the first place?

 _Initializing KittyCat-exe..._

"You didn't? Ah, that's a— pity," Ladybug said, taking her fingers away from her lips where she'd tapped them suggestively ( _oh god_ ) and swallowing the 'kitty' on her tongue for its proper 'pity'. Channeling Chat had gotten her into this mess and now it would have to get her back out again, but she _refused_ to do the cat puns.

 ** _Refused._**

"Don't worry, handsome boy," she continued with a wink, partly because it seemed she truly did hate herself, but also because it was _bizarrely_ easy to construct sentences in Chat's tones and cadences. "A kiss would be a treat from someone as sweet as you, but I understan—"

That was about the point that one brilliantly blushing Adrien Agreste pressed his lips to hers.

It lasted about two seconds and one shocked eternity. Ladybug stood stunned by the gentle sensation of chapped lips against her own, warm and dry and sweet and almost catching on hers—

And then it was over.

"Thank you," he breathed, hot air fanning her mouth, his face only a few scant inches away.

She blinked stars out of her eyes and looked up into his, and her belly clenched.

Green, green, green, green... flecked and streaked and pooled with dark and light and gold and grey, just not quite the _right_ shade of—

She cut that thought off and pushed it down, because she had been waiting _years_ for this, for Adrien, and she wasn't going to let Chat take this opportunity away from her.

She tipped her head just so, shrinking the small distance between them to less than an inch.

"My pleasure," she whispered, and returned the gesture — a dry, warm, chaste little kiss that made her pounding heart stutter and made Adrien's breath hitch against her mouth as she added, "Especially with rewards as sweet as this."

She drew back, giving him a little Chat-like smirk, and something behind those green eyes _flashed_ — flashed bright and dark and _wanting_. Ladybug's skin raised in goosebumps from head to toe, mouth going dry in the split second before he grabbed the back of her neck and crashed his mouth into hers.

She gasped, hands going to his lapels to steady herself against the sudden onslaught. And it _was_ an onslaught: _needy_ and _greedy_ and hedging on _desperate_ , and she arched to meet it, liquid fire rushing up beneath her skin to meet his roving hands.

He took her gasp and licked into her mouth, _taking taking taking,_ and his kiss would have _only_ been taking if every touch wasn't just stoking her _higher._

It was too much — her knees were going weak, there was a mewl caught in the back of her throat, his hands _burned_ — and she tried to stagger back, to give herself room to fill her aching lungs, only for him to take her white flag and use it to push her against the nearest wall.

Her back hit the wall a split second before the hand in her hair shifted to cushion the impact her skull would have suffered. Momentum brought their teeth together with a painful click before he changed the angle to kiss her deeper still.

Her response was dulled, slowed, caught in the undertow of him, of his mouth, of the way he was _devouring_ her, but it came in the wake of the realization that she needed to take charge or she was going to pass out (though whether from the weight of his laser-focused attention or her own lack of air was anyone's guess).

She hooked her foot behind his and used the leverage to switch their positions, catching a handful of his hair to dull the impact for him as he had for her.

Her fingers twisted in his locks and formed a grip to wrench their mouths apart, her gaze meeting his glazed, dazed eyes. She sucked in three huge gulps of air to assuage her burning lungs then dove back in, unable to stand just looking at him for any longer than that.

She got as far as sucking his tongue into her mouth before his weight abruptly gave way, falling onto her where she had him pinned, a breathless moan exhaled against her lips. Her suit-granted strength made it easy to grab his hips and hitch him up against the wall, and, to her surprise, his legs instantly wound around her, dragging her closer.

It was at once dominating and submissive, possessive and pleading, and the contrast, the _unexpectedness_ of the gesture dragged a fervid keen out of her, burned her bones to ash and coalesced into lightning quicksilver in her blood. She was the one pressing closer this time; she was the one _taking taking taking_ , raiding his mouth like she could crawl into his skin if she tried hard enough.

And he gave in, took her greed and her need and her desperation, swallowed it down and helped draw her into him, helped her try to crawl into him, wrapped himself around her, hands clutching and smoothing _everywhere_ — over her shoulders, along her sides, up her nape, across her cheeks, into her hair, down the swoop of her spine and the small of her back. Low groans rumbled in his throat at her every trembling response to his touch.

He was the one who pulled back this time, panting so hard he half-choked. His flush was a shade of red that made her want to explore it, chase it, put her hands in his back pockets and drag him off to a very dark corner for a very long time to do very many things with him and see if she could make that flush any darker.

She very nearly did just that. Would have, if a rude awakening hadn't come in the form of the sound of a building crumbling to the ground.

Both of their heads whipped around at the crash and ensuing screams from outside.

"Bow down before the might of the Puppeteer! _I'm_ the one pulling the strings now, and none will escape my _Mega Marionette!_ "

Akuma, Ladybug thought distantly. Something about an akuma.

She'd been...

She'd been fighting an akuma, she realized with slow-dawning horror. She'd been fighting an akuma, and had rescued Adrien and then she'd made out with him in an abandoned corner of the Louvre while the akuma rampaged around Paris unhindered.

Adrien's feet hit the ground with a thump, and she released her grip on his thighs to let him stand.

He chose not to, instead sliding down the wall where she'd had him pinned, looking starstruck and _stunned_ and she _really_ wanted to—

 _Focus, Ladybug, focus._

"I—" she croaked. She cleared her throat and tried again, waving her hand at the disaster-in-progress in the hopes that it illustrated her point better than her failing voice. "I... I need to... Um. Akuma. There's— there's an akuma and—"

"Y-yeah," said Adrien, blinking like he wasn't seeing things clearly, and _oh_ —

Focus.

"I-I'll just—..." she said, stumbling back a few steps and trying to make herself turn around, away from the sight of Adrien kiss-mussed and slumped on the floor like she'd made him forget how to stand.

 _Focus._

She took a deep, shuddery breath and got out, "See you around, handsome boy."

And with that, she ran for the doors and out into the fray.

(The akuma wound up being defeated by pure luck. When Chat Noir showed up a quarter of an hour later, he was even more out of it than _she_ was, and even with the two of them together it took several hours and countless architectural casualties to get _anything_ done.

And if Ladybug noticed at any point during the fight that Chat's lips looked a little kiss-bruised... well. She had no place to judge...

Or any right to feel jealous.)


	9. Forceful Kiss (puppeteer IV) (M)

**Rating: M**

* * *

19: Forceful Kiss

His eyes were downcast as he crawled through her window, avoiding her gaze.

"Listen, Princess—"

That was as far as she let him get.

She smothered the flow of words with her mouth and hauled him deeper into her room, dismissing whatever he was going to say in favor of feeding the seething flames in her abdomen.

If it was still important afterwards, he could tell her then. Right now she had _needs_.

Her mouth parted against his, stroking and nibbling and coaxing and _demanding_ to be let in. His response was delayed, slow with shock, but he opened to her with a soft, rumbling groan against her lips all the same.

She wasted no time in taking advantage of it.

She followed her mental map of the most sensitive areas of his mouth and tongue, needing needing _needing_ to draw a reaction from him, needing to hear him, to feel him _respond_ to her after the night she'd had.

The damn cat had promised to love Ladybug, so why wouldn't he kiss her?

Chat struggled to match her, still dazed and more reactive than anything else. Gloved hands clung to her waist, claws scratching at her skin just beneath the hem of her shirt.

She pulled him tighter against her, shuddering, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and scraping her teeth over it. The moan it dragged out of him went straight to her core. She gasped, tripping over her feet, dragging him with her as the intensity of it resonated in her bones.

He caught her, hands on the backs of her thighs sliding up, up, up, up over her backside, up over the small of her back, up over the curve of her waist, up over the swoop of her shoulder blades, grasping her biceps and holding her tighter as he responded, tongue touched to hers for only a brief moment before exploring her mouth.

It was slow, gentle — _far_ too gentle — but she whimpered and shuddered anyway, opening up wider, hips jumping at the way he slowly, _oh so slowly_ took her mouth.

It wasn't enough. His reaction still wasn't enough. He still didn't want her enough.

She switched directions, going from aimlessly pulling to shoving him backwards until the backs of his legs hit her lounge, then shoved harder to force him down onto it.

The damn cat had promised to love Ladybug, so _why wouldn't he kiss her?_

He'd had the perfect moment today, in an abandoned corner during a stakeout. He'd had her pinned against a chimney, faces only inches apart and the distance shrinking, and he'd—

He'd backed away.

He'd _backed away_ , stammering excuses and leaving her intensely frustrated, wondering what she'd done _wrong_.

He was happy enough to kiss _Marinette_ , so why wouldn't he kiss _Ladybug?_

She crawled over him on the chaise lounge, never once breaking the kiss, taking her insecurity and frustration out on him now that she had him both willing and where she wanted him.

Chat let out another groan, lower and huskier in timbre than the last, his side of the kiss _finally_ beginning to match hers in heat. She drew back and hovered, needing to take stock of him and what she'd accomplished in the last minute or so.

For a moment he chased her, a whine escaping his throat, then fell back against the pillows of her lounge, panting. Her partner was flushed, blinking eyes slightly blown and unfocused... until they fell on her. Her belly clenched, thighs flexing under the heat of that look.

"Th-that was," he puffed, swallowing hard as his hand went to her hip in a steadying motion. "That was quite the welcome, princess."

He was wisecracking. It seemed she hadn't kissed him hard enough.

She ignored the hand on her hip and dove back in, relishing his surprised gasp, greedily chasing its source, tangling her hand in his hair so she could move his head to a different, better angle.

She kicked off her shoes, the soft thumps of them hitting the floor ringing in her ears like a gavel, _order in the court, order in the court_ , but there was no order, just him and her and the electric pressure that was building in her bones.

Three akuma attacks spent watching him strut his stuff had left her _burning_ in a hopeless and futile way; left her with a longing that congealed into an empty, restless ache in her bones once she was alone. She couldn't get rid of that ache no matter what she did. It just sat and simmered, distracting her and making her slow and irritable, causing her to snap at her friends and family over nothing and keeping her awake in the worst of ways.

Yet so much as a _look_ from him and the ache would burst into desire once more, making her want to trace the contours of his mouth with her tongue when he was close, making her want to chase his body heat when he moved away, making her want to beg _kiss me touch me take me please_ _ **anything**_ whenever his lips curled in that sinful smirk.

Dealing with it was beyond her. Knowing _how_ was beyond her.

Control was a half-remembered thing of the past. She could only _want_ him, want him desperately and want him _now_.

In the now, her lungs began to burn enough for her to pull back again and catch her breath, lips tingling in complaint of the loss.

This time there were no wisecracks from her kitty, only shuddering pants and swallowed hums.

 _Good._

She sat back, straddling him. His body was fever-warm between her thighs, hard muscle shifting with every breath. She took a sharp breath of her own, mouth going dry at the feeling of him through the thin fabric of her leggings.

Well, her leggings and his suit.

His _goddamned_ suit.

A spark of righteous anger flared at the sight of the thick, indestructible material. She dragged her eyes down it and the lean physique of the body it hid, gaze settling on the long zippers of his pockets in the outer casing.

In the _outer casing_.

Inspiration struck. She tugged down the zipper tabs, slipping her fingers into the pockets to see if the suit was any thinner inside.

To her joy, it _was_. Much thinner, actually; she could feel the heat of him so much more closely there, could feel the trembling of his abdominal muscles, the erratic pulse fluttering under his skin... She swallowed and subtly licked her lips, a quiver needling through her gut as he squirmed at her touch, watching her with wide eyes.

Wanting to get at more of him, even if just through his pocket linings, she scooted her hips back to meet his.

A gasp tore out of her at the movement, spine snapping straight (she hadn't realized she was so _wet_ ), which shifted her weight and brought her attention to—

Oh.

She shifted again, wondering if she was imagining it, the physical proof of her effect on him — and he _groaned_ , slamming his eyes shut and flexing his hands on her hips.

 _Oh._

A thrill of power sparked down her spine, jolted her belly, prickled her scalp. She arched in its wake, curving her back and pressing her breasts together with her biceps for emphasis on almost pure instinct.

(Almost, because she'd caught him staring before. She'd just never quite had the courage to do something like _this_.)

A slow, deliberate smirk formed on her face, and she watched with glee as his eyes flit from her lips, to her chest, to where her thighs bracketed his body and then all the way back up, his adam's apple bobbing.

"So," she purred, sliding her hands fully into his pockets, face warm and heart in her mouth. She made a show of licking her lips, emboldened by the way his eyes snapped to her mouth like she'd done something _mind-blowing_. "Just how _uncomfortable_ does this suit get, kitty?"

His slit pupils make it very, _very_ easy to see how wide they went in the split second before she flattened her palms inside the pockets, smoothing over taut sinew with only one very thin layer of cloth between them — and then he arched, throwing his head back on her pillows to expose the muscle jumping in his jawline, the convulsive working of the lines of his throat.

Her lungs emptied at the display of submission, exhaling on an airless laugh. Drawing her hips in a slow, teasing circle, she threw her shame and reservations out the window in exchange for stoking the heat in her abdomen, the heat in her breasts, the heat in her thighs.

He gave a strangled shout and writhed underneath her, _writhed_ between her legs and up against the apex of them. That was all it took to melt her bravado into a sharp whimper, toes curling against the fabric of her lounge as her core tightened like a vice.

"Very," Chat choked, struggling to keep himself still. "Very, very, very — oh _god_ — very un-uncomfort— _nngh!_ "

He cut off on a snarled grunt when she shifted again, clutching at her hips like a liferaft.

(There was a faint thought that maybe she should put a stop to this, that they should slow down, but it was very, very difficult to hear over Chat's strangled panting and the pounding of her own blood.)

She moved her hips in another slow circle, fingers spreading, every part of her hoping to get that noise again (and again and again and again and—).

His hands left her hips to clutch the sides of the lounge cushion, back arching into the air as he bucked into her.

She gasped, rolling into the motion, vision gone with the ecstasy of _him_ —

The world tipped. Her stomach swooped — not in a good way — and with an aborted grab at his pockets she found herself greeting her floor with a painful crash. (For the umpteenth time. They _had_ to stop meeting like this.)

She gasped for air, cool floorboards slowly leeching heat from her skin as she waited for the world to stop spinning.

"Are you—" Chat started.

She glanced up to find him peeking over the pink-and-white edge of her lounge, only his eyes and ears visible.

"Are you okay?" he finished, chagrined, pulling up a little more until she could see the flush under his mask and the embarrassed, worried grimace on his mouth.

"Yep," she squeaked, voice not yet back to full working order. "Peachy."

He groaned and drew back to press his face into the cushion, his one visible leather ear twitching and drooping. "I am so sorry."

She exhaled a breath caught between a sigh and a laugh, and reached up to pet the top of his head. It took a few tries, her distracted fingers finding the bed and his shoulder and his neck as she did her best to ignore the surge of wanting still in her blood. But eventually she managed, finding his fluffy head and giving it a comforting ruffle.

"You're good, Chat."

He turned his head to rake his eyes over her, giving her a little smirk that said more than words ever would.

 _Oh, it's_ _ **on**_ _,_ she couldn't help but think. Her fingers tightened, tugging sharp and rough at his hair as she pulled herself back up onto the lounge and onto him. Letting go, she ran them down over his shoulders and up the tight fabric encasing his arms to grab his wrists, hitching them above his head, savouring the fractional widening of his eyes.

She leaned into the pose like a cat, then met his gaze and _very deliberately_ ran her tongue over her teeth.

His smirk dropped.

Bending down, she let her lips brush his ear and exhaled until she felt him shudder.

"But I'm better."


	10. Goofy Kiss

17: Goofy Kiss

"Done!" Marinette declared, pulling back from the wedding cake she'd finished decorating while absently swatting her assistant's hand away from his mouth for the fifth time in the past hour. He seemed to be having a problem with the strict 'no finger licking' rule her bakery had.

Not that she blamed him, in this case — the decorative frosting had turned out unusually well, with beautiful colour and a perfect creamy consistency, releasing the faintest whiff of butter and sugar. It was taking no small amount of effort to resist the urge to lick the bowl herself.

She gathered up her tools and gave her assistant a stern look. "I need to wash up. Can I trust you to behave yourself?"

Adrien snatched his hand away from his mouth when she turned to him, hiding both behind his back. "Of course, my lady!"

Her eyes narrowed, though she had to resist a smile. "Do you promise?"

"I _paw_ -mise~" he agreed, giving her a little grin that was fifty-percent Adrien, fifty-percent Chat, and one-hundred-percent pun-loving _dork_.

The fight to hide the smile was becoming a losing battle, but she prevailed, determined to hold out just a little bit longer. A raised eyebrow was added to her narrowed eyes.

"Cat's honor!" he swore, resting a cellophane-gloved hand over the heart of the stained apron she'd made him wear.

With a roll of her eyes and a mumble of something to the effect of 'do cats even have honor?' she took her tools over to the sink, unable to stifle the giggle sounding deep in her throat.

Adrien followed her, apparently making good on his 'pawmise' by removing himself from temptation entirely.

One unfairly attractive hip braced against the counter to her left as she rolled up her sleeves and filled the sink with soapy water. Her assistant remained silent, removing his gloves and then letting her fill the space with a hum of half-remembered melody as he simply watched.

That wouldn't do.

Shoving a soapy, dripping bowl at him, she commanded, "Help."

"Yes'm," he chirped, accepting the bowl with good grace and a light step as he turned to join her at the sink.

They worked side-by-side in silence for a while, hands brushing, dishes washed and dried in a comfortable rhythm.

Though she kept her eyes on her work, she sensed the glances he was stealing of the bowl on her right, still streaked with colourful frosting. Marinette waited for the attack.

There was an intake of breath.

She cut it off before he could start. "No, kitty, you can't lick the bowl."

"But—" he protested, not missing a beat.

"House rules, love," she said, leaning her own hip against the counter and gesturing at him with a soapy spatula and a grin.

"You've gotta be _kitten_ me," he groaned dramatically, though the twitch of his mouth exposed the theater behind it.

Marinette snickered.

"You know," she said, slinking closer to her partner's side. "I don't think I like your _cat_ -titude."

He lit up, eyes glittering in barely suppressed laughter as he leaned in as well. "Oh? Would you say I'm… _bug_ -ging you?"

That one earned him a swat on the arm — she couldn't _not_ , even as her head bowed in helpless laughter.

When she'd gained enough control to glance up, mid-giggle, she found him watching her with the same soft, affectionate smile that experience had taught her meant he was going to either kiss her or say something horribly sweet.

It was the first.

The warmth of his kiss had her willingly arching into him, skin tingling with want while her heart danced in amusement, laughter lacing her soft moan, warm affection sweeping from head to toe to mingle with the pit of delight fizzing in her stomach.

Cool air interrupted the fizzle as he pulled back to give her a mischievous grin, and she had just enough time to blink the stars out of her eyes before his fingers were stroking over her lips, painting them with a thick substance before he bent down to capture her mouth once again.

There was the taste of butter and sugar mingling with his kiss this time, and it hit her what he must have done: he'd distracted her with puns and kisses, and then reached behind for the frosting bowl and snagged some of the treat while he had her where he wanted her.

She spluttered against his mouth, mock-outraged, and he just laughed, nibbling and sucking and licking her lips to get all the frosting off.

"You—" she gasped as he drew away a second time, her soapy hands clutching at the counter to support her watery knees. "You! You— you, you!"

"Me," he agreed, licking his lips suggestively, flashing her a smirk that never failed to get her going. (Despite all of her best efforts, he'd _found out_ it got her going, and, oh, he _used_ it.) "Might I say that you taste _pawsitively purrfect_ , my lady."

A strangled noise of protest grated in her throat and she jabbed him with the butt end of the spatula, her cheeks burning.

With a peal of gleeful laughter he ducked away and slipped out the door into the bakery proper, out of her reach and victorious.

Her cheeks puffed up in a pout, feeling warm from head to toe in a hundred different ways. She wasn't used to being so utterly bested — and especially not by _him_.

In the middle of her flustered sulk her eyes happened to fall on the bowl he'd left behind. Traces of frosting still coated its sides, interrupted by two clean streaks where his fingers had stolen their prize.

An evil little smile snuck up her face.

(Making sure to sit on the counter in a spot where Adrien could see her but the customers could not, she spent the next hour alternately dipping her hands into the bowl in her lap and licking her fingers clean in delightfully unsanitary ways until Adrien couldn't take it any more and tackled her.)


	11. Eyelid Kiss

**Rating:** T

 **WARNING: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH**

* * *

8: Eyelid Kiss

She didn't deserve this.

No one, _no one_ did, but...

Especially not Marinette.

Brave, strong, beautiful, _kind_ Marinette, hanging limply in his arms without a breath left in her.

She didn't deserve this.

She deserved birthday parties and university degrees and children and someone who would love her for the rest of their joined lives. She deserved to bat her pretty blue eyes at a guy she liked, she deserved to inherit her parents' bakery, she deserved midnight laughter and shared secrets and the kind of friendship that only existed between teenage girls.

She deserved the world.

She deserved _life_.

Adrien hadn't known her, not really. Not beyond the fleeting moments when they overcame their mutual shyness: stolen shining bubbles of time that shattered at the slightest touch, but in their existence proved that, beneath the stutter and the shyness, Marinette had a keen, brilliant mind, a smile that would take anyone's breath away — not least of all his — and a kindness so vast, so _intense_ that just being in her presence felt like sinking in honey.

Now her eyes were shut, never to open again, and the lost potential of what he _could_ have known, what they could have been together if only he hadn't waited, if only he hadn't thought _tomorrow, tomorrow he would talk to her_...

It cut worse than he could have _imagined_.

Gone from this world and on to the next, she took some infinitesimal fraction of the world's light with her. Life would go on — he would heal, her family would one day pick themselves back up again, her seat behind him would one day be filled by another student — but the stars would never quite shine the same. Not for him, not for anyone who had been blessed enough to have lived with her, around her, to have come in contact with her and had her warmth and light and generosity touch their lives.

Chat laid her cooling body down as far from the disaster as he dared go — only a few blocks, but hopefully far enough to escape further crossfire — and touched her forehead.

No reaction.

It was something he should have expected, but it made his blood chill all the same.

He released a slow breath and drew his hand over her eyes, making sure they really were closed before stooping to plant a soft kiss on each.

"In hopes that your next life will be as wonderful as this one," he whispered between the kisses — a tribute and a farewell, an acknowledgement of what would never be, what never _could_ be, now.

Standing, he turned to leave.

Mourning could come later. Right now, Hawkmoth had a lot to answer for.

(Upon detransformation, Plagg told him that Ladybug had also died in that fight, that they needed to find a new holder _now_ or akuma would win the war in short order, that they had _no time_ , and suddenly Chat had bigger things to worry about than a pretty classmate whose time had ended far too soon.)


	12. Jawline Kiss

**Rating:** K+

* * *

9: Jawline Kiss

The first thing he saw after after the world faded back into color — after he'd gotten up and looked around, after the crowd of people with him also came to its senses and began to disperse — was Ladybug frantically scanning the area for someone, heedless of the way her timer was ticking down to zero.

"Ladybug!" he shouted over the distance.

He went ignored or unheard, and he picked up the pace, a panicked pressure building in his chest. For Ladybug to be that worried even _after_ a Lucky Charm…

He ran faster, weaving between the stragglers.

"Chat? Chat!" he heard her call, a terrifying waver edging her voice.

"I'm here!" he called back, hand going to his staff to prepare for whatever had Ladybug — _invincible_ Ladybug, _unshakeable_ Ladybug — so distressed. "What's wrong?"

" _Chat!_ "

"Ladybug, I'm here," he repeated, leaping to her side with half an eye on their surroundings and half an eye on her. He knew there was something wrong, but he couldn't see any evidence of it other than Ladybug's reaction, so watching her was his best bet to be prepared.

She whirled on him.

He had a few seconds to register the tears filming her eyes, the tremble of her jaw as her mouth dropped open, the unfamiliar shock in her countenance. He had a few seconds to think _oh no no no no_.

Then she rushed him.

Slender, strong arms clamped vice-tight around his ribcage, her cheek pressed against his neck, and she shuddered in what felt horribly like a sob.

"I thought—" she choked out against his collar, breath damp-sticky-hot against his skin. His arms wrapped around her almost of their own volition. "I thought you'd—"

Her explanation broke off in another, louder sob, and something in Chat's chest _burst_.

She thought she'd lost him. She was clinging to him, pressed close to his body from her ankles to her cheek, falling apart because she thought she'd lost him.

The invincible Ladybug was cracking, shaken to the bone, to the core, because _she thought she'd lost him._

"Hey," he murmured, cradling her close, voice rough with emotions too numerous and intense to name. "I'm here. I'm okay."

She sobbed again, a tiny, hitching thing that she muffled against his jaw, pressing her lips indiscriminately against the vulnerable flesh below the bone. As she turned her head her mask brushed against his skin, leaving it damp in her wake.

Chat's heart lurched.

"I'm okay," he repeated, softer, as he let her run her hands over his body, let her test his corporeality and his condition, let her make sure that he was truly all right with her own senses.

"Dumb cat," she croaked, nudging her nose up so she could give his jaw a proper kiss.

His nerves sparked, goosebumps pebbling his skin from head to toe, but the response sputtered out as her mask continued to streak dampness on his skin.

Her Miraculous beeped.

"Your time—" he began, chest _aching_. He didn't want to let her go, didn't want _her_ to let him go, not when she was in this state.

She ignored him.

"Don't you _ever_ do that again," she whispered fiercely, the intensity vanishing like smoke on a tiny, added, " _Please_." Chat's heart broke all over again.

"I won't," he promised. "But your Miraculous…"

Her arms tightened.

"Just a little longer," she begged, _begged_ , and Chat was powerless to say no.

"Of course," he sighed, burying his face in her hair.

They stood there like that, wrapped in each other's embrace, until her Miraculous gave its last warning beeps.

"Ladybug…" There were half a million things he wanted to say, _needed_ to say, but the only one that came to mind was _'I love you.'_ And Ladybug had made her feelings on that matter perfectly clear.

She didn't move.

"Ladybug, your _time_ ," he tried one last time.

The thin body against his breathed in, and breathed out, arms still clamped tight around his torso.

Then, there was no more time. Chat slammed his eyes shut against the pink light reflecting against the ground behind her.

There was a girl in his arms. A girl who both was Ladybug and wasn't. A girl who ate and slept and laughed and dreamed in spaces he couldn't touch. A girl who wore soft, civilian clothing and who smelled like a bakery's worth of sweets, of flowery perfume and tears.

There was a girl in his arms who meant the world to him, who meant the stars and the moon and galaxies upon _galaxies_ to him.

There was a girl in his arms that he didn't know, but there was also a girl that he did know. There was a girl in his arms that he desperately _wanted_ to know.

There was a girl in his arms who didn't want him to know her.

He kept his eyes shut.

It felt like minutes or hours or maybe just fractions of a second that she stood still, holding him like she didn't want him to leave her, before she let go and stepped back.

His eyelids fluttered as he fought to keep them down.

"So, now you—..."

He heard her breath catch in a little gasp, and had to fight even harder to refrain from looking for what had startled her.

"C-Chat?"

"Yeah?"

"Y-you…" There was a strange little noise in her voice, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and he balled his fists at his sides to keep from reaching for her. "You… You are…"

She fell silent. A little rustle of hair or clothing floated up to his ears, like she was shaking her head.

"You are the best partner I could ever ask for."

She'd fallen apart at the thought of losing him, and the revelation was still fresh in his heart when the words left her lips. The effect was _devastating_ , his throat snapping shut, heart stammering and leaping into his mouth.

Before he could recover, she exhaled a little laugh and shook her head again. "No, you're the best _friend_ I could ever ask for."

Soft, delicate, bare hands came up to cradle his cheeks. Bare thumbs stroked the corners of his eyes over his mask.

"Oh, _Chat_ ," she whispered, low and soft and intimate and ragged and _so much closer_ than she had last been. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I thank my lucky stars for it every single night."

He'd long since stopped breathing, and it helped him feel the way her own breath washed over his face as she leaned in and pressed her forehead to his. Maskless against his mask. Bare against his armor.

"Thank you," she whispered, so heartfelt that his own heart ground to a halt. She stepped back.

He heard her shoes scrape against the cobblestone as she turned, then the soft padding as she walked away. He waited until her footsteps had faded into silence around the corner of a building. Then he waited a bit longer, just to make sure she wasn't coming back.

Then — and only then — did he open his eyes.

Blinking the odd afterimages out of his vision, he looked towards the route the girl had taken, holding his heart in her bare hands as she'd left.

He could track her, he thought. It wouldn't even be difficult: that road didn't go many places. He could find her, know her, get closer to her like he'd craved since the day they met.

He wouldn't, but he could.

His quickest route home was that way.

Laughing a little at himself ( _you're the best friend I could ever ask for_ ) he turned in the opposite direction, leaping for the rooftops.


	13. Chest Kiss (puppeteer V) (M)

**Rating:** very hard T

* * *

12: Chest Kiss

Marinette's fan was broken. It caught with a little grind on every revolution it gave, failing to actually bring the temperature of the room down at all. All it did was stir the muggy summer humidity around like a pot of stew.

That humidity sat on her skin, dewing under her clothing, making her nice white button-down stick to her skin and itch uncomfortably. It was a relief when Chat's claws caught the back of the blouse, lifting it off her slick, sweaty back, and she hummed her appreciation into his mouth.

He pulled away softly, slowly, their mouths parting with a wet noise, and looked down at her with dark, hooded, considering eyes.

She blinked back, open, and drew in a shuddering breath, using his shoulders to steady herself. The heat slowed them today, the oppressive weight of it thick and heady as they knelt on her bed, turning the kisses they shared molasses-sweet, molasses-slow, rich and languid.

Chat kept his eyes on hers as he carefully shifted his hand from the curve of her back down to the bare skin he'd revealed at the small of it. She shivered — like she usually did when his hands ventured in that direction — and held his gaze, bemused at the deliberation. His glove did feel very, very nice there, so she didn't say a word. Only waited.

He didn't keep her in suspense. Just as carefully as he'd moved his hand there, he set his claws against her damp skin.

Then, without any warning, drew them sharply across the small of her back.

The force of the sensation shot through her nerves like a whip crack. Her nails dug into his shoulders while tingles shot through her flesh, tearing through her daze and stoking the muted glow in her core the same way kerosene stoked bonfires. She pressed her face against his throat and gasped quietly as her thighs threatened to give out, trying to spread on pure instinct.

Against the bridge of her nose, his throat vibrated with a terrifyingly considering hum.

Marinette swallowed hard. That could mean something either very good, or very bad.

Or both.

'Both' seemed to be the answer when he drew his claws over her skin again, more slowly this time but with the same amount of pressure, and Marinette's thighs really did start to give out. Clinging to him didn't help; her front slid tantalizingly down his as she slipped, the friction of his hard muscle against her breasts and stomach making her head spin and her insides melt.

She whimpered against his collarbone, biting at his suit to muffle the noises escaping her throat as she shook and tingled. The sensations were both far too much and not nearly enough, trapping her between extremes, driving her to both squirm into and twitch away from his hands in turn.

His claws changed direction for one tiny little scratch, the unexpected movement tipping the balance in favor of 'too much.' Marinette's elbows locked, pushing him away of their own accord.

Even so, she whined when his fingers slipped away. The scales swung wildly, and it _wasn't_ enough.

Chat sat back, leaving the the humid summer air to swirl between their bodies and cool the sweat soaking damp through her shirt. He gave her the same considering look he'd given her before he'd reduced her to this wreck, and Marinette viewed it with new trepidation.

Without his support she sank back on her heels, knees spreading wide in spite of herself, and Chat's eyes went from considering to...

Well.

She wondered what _she_ looked like, to make _him_ look like _that_ — she could feel her minuscule jean shorts riding high on her thighs, white shirt plastered to her body and going see-through with the sweat slicking her skin. Her hair was curling at her temples and nape from more of the same, tangled and loose from his hands, and her lips felt swollen... she probably looked very thoroughly kissed.

Chat opened his mouth to say something, and paused. Cleared his throat. Tried again.

"Arms," he croaked, watching her like he was trying to hold himself back — she wished he wouldn't. "Put your arms above your head?"

Confused but willing, she raised her hands above her head.

Quirking a shaky little grin at her baffled stare, he caught her left wrist and moved it up and over, stretching out her shoulders and tendons deliciously in the process. Then he repeated the process with her right wrist, bringing it up to cross over her left.

She caught his eye and blinked at him, questioning.

His grin only widened.

"Think you can keep them there?" he challenged softly, trailing his hands back down to her hips, making the fabric of her clothing shift against her in irritating, wonderfully prickly ways.

Twisting her fingers together where he had placed them, she smirked a wordless dare right back.

 _Try me._

Challenge issued, challenge accepted, and she saw the recognition of it spark in his eyes. He slid a hand into her hair and encouraged her to tip her head back with a gentle tug.

She did so, baring her throat to him, gut clenching tight in anticipation and nerves.

He ducked down to press his lips right above the hollow of her throat, right at the most sensitive, most vulnerable of the places she'd just opened to him. A sharp breath caught in her teeth, sudden tears pricking the corners of her eyes at the unexpected intimacy, chest compressing under the feeling.

His mouth moved on, moved down, pressing kisses to her sternum as his fingers left her hair and drifted back to the small of her back to drag his claws over her flesh again.

Her hands twisted together, and she firmly reminded herself that she wasn't allowed to touch him right now. It took effort to bite back the urge to grab him, guide him, her teeth gritting at the shudder that shot down her spine.

The claws on her back drew a soft figure 8, sending electrifying little sparks skittering under her skin that made her jerk, a tender caress to a sweet spot she never would have guessed she had.

He continued to draw kisses down her chest, lower and lower and lower, and she dimly realized that his other hand had come up to unbutton her shirt. The side of his nose brushed against the swell of her breast, following the line her bra cup drew over it, and a whimper caught high in the back of her throat while her hips jumped, thighs trying to spread wider.

 _There_ , she wanted to tell him, _there there there, I need you there_ , but neither her voice nor her airways would obey her. All she could do was arch helplessly into the touch, hoping he got the message.

Apparently he did. Pausing the meandering trail of his mouth, he turned his head to first press a kiss to the spot, then opened his lips to apply a light suck.

Marinette's hips bucked without her consent, dislodging his hand in the process, and she very nearly swore. What came out instead was a choked growl, rough enough to play counterpart to the way her shoulders were starting to burn in all the best ways.

His voice thrummed in a low laugh against her breast, making her squirm even more violently. His hand replaced itself on the small of her back, lower this time, nearly dipping beneath the waist of her shorts with each slow drag of his claws.

Then he pushed her down into the pillows to suck a mark into her skin for real.

By the time he was finished her vision was wavering, too hot in the summer heat, too tight under her own skin, too full and not nearly full enough, ready to _beg_ if only she had the words to do it.

The hand not on her lower back came up to push the cup of her bra to the side, and her thighs jerked still wider, her ragged breaths adding to the humid air between them. This was it, this was what she needed, desperately, right in that moment—

Only for the moment to be shattered by a loud, all-too-identifiable cry from somewhere outside.

 _"Tense? Frustrated? I think you all need a little DOWNTIME!"_

The declaration was quickly followed by a wave of terrified screams, which heralded an explosion, after which descended ominous silence.

Chat's head snapped up, his green eyes wide.

She was going to _kill the damn akuma_.

Marinette lowered her arms with stiff movements as the villain's artificially enhanced voice rang out again.

 _"So much work and so little play! Everybody's just going to lay back and RELAX for a while with the help of my Bath Bombs~"_

Chat reared up without thought and then paused and turned back to her, uncertain.

She glared.

He blinked.

"Well?" she snapped, resisting the urge to shake him. Her body ached fiercely in protest of the loss of his heat, even in the day's attempt to make freshly baked muffins out of the two of them. "That was an _akuma_ , hero. Don't you have somewhere to be?"

That earned her a very strange look, presumably for her vitriol.

Well, he wasn't the one being left high and dry after something like _that_.

"Ye-e-es," her partner said slowly, expression cautious. "Will you be all right, princess?"

No. No she wouldn't. "Of course I will."

A tree took the opportunity to fall in the park, presumably from the explosion. The boom of felled lumber sounded surprisingly nearby.

Caution morphed to worry behind the green eyes of his mask. "That was _really_ close. Maybe I should stay until Ladybug comes."

 _Yes_ , she thought acidly. _Maybe you should._

(Of course, there was the small problem of Ladybug being unable to show up in a more literal way until he left.)

"I'll be okay, I promise," she sighed, giving her frustration a swift kick in its metaphorical butt. She needed to be a responsible superhero right now, even if she wasn't wearing the spots.

Chat gave her an insultingly unconvinced look, and Marinette cast around for a reassurance that would get him to leave.

"Ladybug," she said, spitting out the first thing that came to mind. "Ladybug will come check on me."

"Uh. Really?" he asked her, startled.

"Y-yup," she lied, the words tasting funny in her mouth. "She normally does."

"Sh-she does?"

 _He didn't have to look_ _ **that**_ _surprised_ , Marinette grumped to herself. Hadn't Ladybug asked him to look after Marinette once?

Which... kind of implied she and Ladybug were close. She could work with that.

"Yeah," Marinette chirped nervously, fingers coming together and winding and unwinding in her little tell. She had a _terrible_ poker face. "She uses my room as a hideout when I'm not here. A-and she checks on me after big attacks, sometimes. And she was going to come over later — she told me!"

That was reasonable, right? For Marinette to be Ladybug's keeper? She fought down the panicked burn in her stomach.

Another explosion rang out from the other side of the park.

"Right," Chat drew out slowly. "If you're really sure—"

"I am," she interjected hurriedly.

"—then I guess I have an akuma to fight."

"Yup," she squeaked, trying to wave only to find she'd tangled her fingers together so tightly they required _un_ -tangling. She worked her hands free of each other, looking up in time to catch Chat's salute as he crawled to the edge of her bed and stood on the ladder.

Almost instantly he hunched over, a pained little 'tch' cutting through the humid air.

"I'm okay," he reassured her before she could ask, holding up a wry hand even as he continued to hunch over her handrail.

"A-are you... sure?" she called out hesitantly, tugging her clothes back into place while he kept curled in on himself during his hobble down her ladder.

"I'm sure," came the dry reassurance, and he tentatively straightened up to open her window.

Any attempts to ask if he maybe needed to sit down a while longer were stalled by the jaunty salute he gave her. Marinette only had time to raise her hand in an answering gesture before he was out the window.

As soon as she was sure he was gone, she dropped her hand to press the heel of her palm between her thighs and tipped her torso forward, wishing her bed was hard enough for a good solid head thumping. Her earlier panic had cooled her down enough that it was unlikely she could take care of her tension before at least a city block was destroyed.

Pressing her face into her pillow, she spat out every curse word in her vocabulary in rapid succession, then took a deep breath and forced herself upright.

"Tikki, transform me."

The magical light swirled around her body, doing nothing to ease the hot aching _unfinished_ feeling. She reflected that she was going to _kill_ that akuma.

 _Marinette..._ Tikki murmured warningly in her mind.

...She was going to finish that akuma very quickly and _non-fatally_ , Marinette corrected herself.

Tikki just sighed, and Marinette hurried to pull herself out of her hatch so she could take care of at least _one_ of her problems this afternoon.


	14. Cheek Kiss

**Rating:** T

* * *

2: Cheek Kiss

"Stay."

The whisper fell into the space between them, rough and pleading. It tugged itself loose from her lips, escaping around the lump in her throat from the yawning ache in her chest.

"I would," he whispered right back, sounding like he was in no less pain as he left her to cast around for his clothing in the pitch-black room. Cold air rushed to fill the dent the shape of his body had left in the mattress. "You _know_ I would."

Shivering, she sat up. Clutched the blankets to her chest. Exhaled slowly. "Yeah, I do."

It wasn't his choice. He'd stay with her if he could, he loved her desperately— she knew all of these things.

It didn't dull the knife's edge of loss one bit.

They'd been dragging it out, their time as Ladybug and Chat Noir. Hawkmoth had been defeated two years ago, eight years after they began; by all rights they should have retired then. Maybe they would have, if not for their relationship.

Ladybug and Chat Noir: legendary lovers, according to every gossip column in the city. It held some truth, _had_ held truth for years now.

The dumb cat had won her heart.

And now he was leaving with it.

"And there's no way you can stay." It was meant to be an agreement, resigned fact, but she couldn't help the battered thread of pleading that crept into her voice. She hated herself for it, just a little bit. It wasn't that she didn't believe him — she really did, and there was no point in making things harder for the both of them.

Chat was leaving, and this was their goodbye.

That's all there was to it.

"I've looked and looked, Ladybug, _believe me_." He was the one pleading now, abandoning his search for his clothes in favor of wrapping his arms around her. His voice shook like he was on the edge of tears.

"I know," she soothed, returning the embrace and stroking his back, not sounding much better herself. The warmth of his skin was a bittersweet comfort. "I love you, always. Don't forget that."

"Never," he choked out into her hair, shaking his head. "Never, never, never."

"Good," she answered, and tipped her head back for a kiss, wishing with all her heart that she could see him one last time even though she knew it was impossible.

Paris _needed_ a duo to protect it. They had managed to draw things out this long, but with Chat's permanent departure the city would no longer have what it needed.

She couldn't do it on her own.

It was time to pass on their Miraculous.

His lips pressed firm against her cheek first, the undemanding, unassuming affection shooting straight to her aching heart. Then they trailed upwards, kissing away the dampness at the corners of her eyes before moving down to her mouth.

"I love you," he promised into the kiss, and she traced the words, memorized them, saved them for her hungry heart. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

He didn't say _I'm not sure how I'll do this without you_ , or _you are my everything_ , or _I'll miss you_ , but she heard the words all the same, felt them in the way he clutched her tight and the way he shook.

Opening to him, she tried to show him the same. Kissed him softly, thoroughly, soundly, and tried not shake too obviously with him. She was the strong one, the rock. She couldn't fall apart here.

The kisses ended on a mutual breath. Ladybug clung to him, naked against the clothing he'd managed to don with unsteady hands between their desperate snatches of affection.

"There's really no way you can stay, is there."

He dropped his face into her hair again, shuddering breaths fanning over her scalp. "No."

She should say something, she thought. _Something_ about the little pink plus taunting her from her bathroom sink.

But he couldn't stay.

He couldn't stay. He couldn't have what he'd wanted his entire life. To tell him now would be cruel. To let the lost possibility stay with him, eating at him (because she _knew_ her partner and she _knew_ it would), would be cruel.

Right?

(If she told him, would that just be a way of trying to manipulate him into staying? If she told him, would it really be for the good of them all, or just a whim of her selfish heart?)

(Would telling him cause more harm, or more good?)

She forced herself to unwind her arms from around him, and shove the questions — endless questions that had been swirling in her mind for a week now — out of her thoughts.

She forced herself to withdraw her heart, to detach its hungry fingers from the idea of _him_ and _them_ and _forever_.

She forced herself to say, "Okay."

And he forced himself to release her, arms moving with aching slowness.

"I guess... I guess this is..."

"Goodbye," she said, taking the plunge for the both of them.

"Yeah," he whispered, voice cracking and breaking her heart just a little bit more with the sound. "Goodbye."

Unable to help it, she reached up to cradle his face. Pressing her forehead to his, she breathed one final, "I love you, Chat Noir. Goodbye."

His hands came up to return the gesture, brushing tears from her cheekbones. Long fingers caught at hers, pressing something small into her palm. "I love you too, Ladybug. Goodbye."

And with that, he extracted himself from her life, and turned to leave.

Eight years. They'd had eight wonderful years together. She used to think it was a long time, but it felt so short now that all she wanted was forever.

Her hands curled into fists. Metal cut into her fingers, and she realized that she was holding a ring. The knowledge yanked at her heart like a barbed hook.

"Wait!"

Still, it wasn't _that_ that made her leap out of the bed, grabbing for his shoulder when she heard his hand on the door handle.

He stopped. "Yeah?"

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng," she gasped. It broke the one rule they had, reneging on it for the sake of the little pink plus still sitting on her bathroom sink.

"What?"

"My name. Marinette Dupain-Cheng. If— if you ever— if you ever find yourself in Paris again, come visit me, okay?"

She couldn't bring herself to say more, not when an uncertain little hope was all she had, but she couldn't say _nothing_ either. She had to give them a chance somehow. She _had_ to.

His shoulders jumped with tension under her hand, starting to tremble all over again, and she wondered if the name meant more to him than she thought, if he was struggling with the urge to give his own in return. She wasn't sure which terrified her more: that he wouldn't, or that he _would_.

Would it cause more harm? Or more good?

"I will," he promised in the end, voice rough. Making his choice.

She let her hand fall from his shoulder, one last caress of his form. After a pause, he turned the handle and stepped out to catch his flight.

Streetlamp light spilled in from the hallway, limning him in a halo, glinting off his hair and giving her a fleeting glimpse of gold.

Then the door closed, and he was gone.

She didn't fall to her knees or burst into tears, although she wanted to. Instead she locked the door and turned on the light, and picked around the room for her clothing.

Chat wasn't the only one with somewhere to be.

She had a rather important test awaiting her at her doctor's office.


	15. Firm Kiss (puppeteer VI) (M)

**Rating:** strong M

* * *

5: Firm Kiss

He hadn't expected this.

He hadn't expected _her_.

He'd always thought Marinette was cute — how could she _not_ be, with those lips and those hips and that energy? — but this was…

This was something else.

Kissing Marinette was a special sort of addicting he wouldn't ever have guessed _existed_ if he hadn't experienced it first hand.

He could have foreseen waking up with the memory of her taste in his mouth, could have expected falling asleep to fantasies of her — recent attempts aside, Ladybug had kissed him exactly once after a bad battle and it had stayed with him for _years_ ; he could still remember the hitch of her breath and the taste of her tears in that little moment of weakness like it had only happened yesterday — but he hadn't foreseen the sheer _force_ of his craving for Marinette, hadn't expected how _omnipresent_ wanting her could be.

He hadn't foreseen needing her, breathing her, feeling her everywhere he went, on his skin just as much as she was under it. He hadn't foreseen the way a little tilt to her mouth could shut him up like nothing else could. He hadn't foreseen _twitching_ in his seat with anticipation whenever she so much as raised a hand to answer a question in class.

He hadn't foreseen Marinette squirming in his lap while Ladybug peeled back the collar of his suit to nibble the junction of his neck and shoulder, pressed hot and flush against his back — but life was full of unforeseeable things, and Chat wasn't much inclined to question this one.

"Hey," Ladybug whispered. Her lips trailed up his neck and exhaled the words into the hollow beneath his ear, eliciting a helpless shudder. "Move your arms a little."

Marinette hummed a question into his mouth at the feel of his shudder, and drew back entirely at the sound of Ladybug's command. She studied the two superheroes with dark, speculative eyes and held still as Chat's hands fell away from her waist, silent but for her soft breathing.

Ladybug rewarded Chat with a little kiss to the same spot behind his ear. He dropped his head back with a gasp, open to any more attention she might deign to lavish on the area while her touch sunk into the pit of his stomach and settled at the bottom.

Ignoring the invitation, she pressed harder against his back. Modest breasts slid deliciously from the bottom of his shoulder blades to the highest curve of his back as she reached around him, muscled thighs digging into his hips where she bracketed them.

When a knee brushed his chest, his eyes snapped open ( _when had they closed?_ ) to find Marinette laid out before him on her own bed. She rested back on her elbows while red-clad hands manipulated her legs, pulling them to part on either side his hips, skirt rucked just high enough to punch the air out of his lungs.

Marinette caught his eye, held his stare and _winked_ as Ladybug's hands spread her legs to a downright _obscene_ degree, saucy and smug and entirely too comfortable with putting her lacy white underwear on display for him.

Chat swallowed with a dry mouth and tried to remember how to breathe.

Ladybug didn't give him the chance.

Dragging Marinette in by the backs of her knees, his partner leaned him forward while stretching his classmate out _mind-bendingly_ beneath him until he was pillared between their hips, his groin bracketed by Marinette's thighs from the front and Ladybug's from the back, blanketed by heat on all sides.

Chat braced himself against the bed and stamped down the urge to rut against them — an urge doubled, tripled by the pleased hum Ladybug let buzz against the shell of his ear. He could feel the buzz vibrating down his spine, gaining intensity until it rattled in his bones.

"That's better."

Ladybug's hands slid up the swell of Marinette's thighs to rest low on her hips, and he watched, hypnotized, as a scarlet thumb stroked over the area where the skirt had skewed aside to reveal his mark.

Marinette _squeaked_ , cheeks blooming a matching crimson and her hips jerking into the contact — and, by extension, into _Chat_ , whose vision went white around the edges at the unexpected pressure.

He closed his eyes deliberately this time, sucking in several deep breaths in a futile attempt to re-center himself. With his attention focused on trying not to shake, he was left defenseless against the way Ladybug slid back down his back, pressed so tight against him he couldn't _think_ and ripping a helpless moan from his throat. Her belly pressed against the lower curve of his spine, sloping up to meet the hard struts of her ribcage with the soft, soft weights of her breasts resting back on his shoulder blades.

Her breathing was off-rhythm with his, and the way it made their points ( _expanses_ ) of contact move together yanked his attention back with every breath he took.

"Go on," she murmured, cheek resting on his shoulder, face turned into him so he could feel the hot, damp air over the edge of his collar. "Kiss her."

His eyes flew open at the command, falling on Marinette where she was still spread out in her own sheets. She tilted her head, looking between him and Ladybug, panting a little from Ladybug's touch.

Chat's stomach clenched.

They met halfway, both moving to obey the order after the same moment of hesitation, him crouching forward on his knees and Marinette rising off the bed to meet him. They kissed softly, softly, softly, slow and gentle and sweet — far calmer than anything they'd managed on their own.

"There you go," Ladybug whispered. She finished the statement with a soft kiss to his ear, a precious reward for his obedience.

The delicacy of the gesture was shattered in the next moment when she sucked his earlobe into her mouth.

Chat spasmed, electric shock running from his scalp to his extremities, pure heat blazing a path straight down his spine like a shot and _oh god_ did everyone's ears do that or just his?

In his arms Marinette shivered right back, pressing closer, forcing him to sit up with her. The shift in angle pressed their groins tighter together, and Marinette mewled into his mouth at the same moment he groaned into hers. He put his hands on her hips to try to steady the pressure, get her to ease off a little for the sake of his sanity. His fingers folded over Ladybug's where they still held Marinette fast, and he found himself groaning even louder at the feeling of her slim digits crossed under his.

Thoroughly out of breath, Chat broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Marinette's.

She looked at him like she didn't understand why he was so affected, and he wasn't sure he could define it to her even if he'd had enough words in him to try. Just that Ladybug's fingers under his, strong and confident and sure, _got_ him, got him in the deepest parts of his being, told his hindbrain _she is mine_ and _you are mine_ and _she is yours_ , sucked the air out of his lungs at the thought of possessing and being possessed.

Marinette seemed to dismiss her confusion, visibly shrugging it off as she closed her eyes and brought her hands up to cup his face. They stroked his cheeks with her thumbs before sliding her touch down to his chest, resting over his stuttering, hammering heart, making a quiet little claim of her own.

"Come on, Chat," Ladybug taunted low in his ear, a red-hot counterpart to Marinette's sugar-sweet gesture. "I know you can do better than _that_."

As she said this she slid her hands up Marinette's sides, over that little spot he'd discovered at the small of her back, and Marinette arched into him so hard that stars flashed before his eyes.

"Like this, remember?"

Ladybug pulled her hands away from Marinette's back to catch his wrist and move his hand to the sweet spot, and Marinette slumped against him, panting and trembling.

He didn't stroke the spot at first, just let his hand rest there while Marinette caught her breath, and she nosed the underside of his jaw in thanks, shuddering on an inhale, squeezing Chat's heart in something that felt like fierce protectiveness, an instinctive reaction of _you're vulnerable and you're_ _ **mine**_.

Ladybug's breath brushed the shell of his ear, and he braced himself for the system shock he was about to experience, but, to his surprise, it never came. Ladybug nuzzled the side of his head and touched another soft kiss to his ear, dragging a hand through his hair and making his scalp tingle, heart rate skittering.

(And maybe it was just Chat's lovelorn heart, his overloaded mind, but it felt less like _reward_ and more like _affection_ — like an artless, wordless communication of love supporting him from behind.)

Tilting his head, he chased the sweet caress, seeking it like a balm for his battered emotions, but Ladybug's fingers withdrew, pulling a whimper from his throat in their wake.

A warm mouth touched to his Adam's apple, eased the sound to a stuttering halt even as Ladybug's fingers slid back into his hair, nosing his ear in quiet apology. Marinette's hands ran up his biceps, stroked across his chest and drew him back to her. Together they slipped something terrifyingly real under his skin, a shot of warmth straight into his chest to back the empty heat.

When Marinette looked up at him, her blue eyes were sympathetic, kind and laughing. She ran her thumb back and forth over the suit where it failed to protect his heart, a soothing little caress that failed to soothe, a little reassurance that wasn't _capable_ of reassuring because it was the very thing that was destroying him.

He caught her wrist and tugged it away, covering her candy-sweet mouth with his own in a desperate bid to muffle his own feelings, smother them in the heat of having the only two people he'd ever wanted put their hands all over him.

Ladybug continued to stroke his hair, running the cool tip of her nose down his neck, and Chat just _drowned_ , drowned in the touch and taste and _emotion_ of being the center of attention like this.

His bid had failed him _horribly_.

Ladybug dropped a little kiss to his nape and pulled out of his hair before it could get to be too much, and Chat sagged a little into the place she'd vacated. Nerves sparked and fizzled, his heart quivering and aching, grateful and disappointed all at once.

She nipped him for his theatrics.

"I meant _actually_ kiss her, Chat," she said wryly, teeth scraping his neck as she spoke.

He hummed a question at her, and Marinette giggled into their kiss.

"Deeper," Ladybug suggested, smiling.

He was tempted to open his mouth as wide as it would go just to spite that smile. Luckily Marinette took orders better than he did, because he suddenly found her tongue in his mouth.

It was a very lovely tongue — he'd become very familiar with it over the course of their… whatever it was that they had — and it flitted around his mouth, flirting with his weak points, cheerfully erasing any thought of not taking this seriously.

Ladybug then erased every _other_ thought by stroking the edge of one ear with her tongue and the other with a fingertip, a touch he felt sweeping up from his toes, raising goosebumps on every inch of his skin, oxygen sucked from the room like someone had broken an airlock, keen building painfully high in his throat.

He ripped his mouth from Marinette's and buried his face in her shoulder and _breathed_ , trying to regain his footing. The attempt was thwarted by the fact that he could now feel that heat he'd been chasing — could feel just how pinned he was, in the best possible ways, between two sets of lovely breasts, two pairs of firm thighs, two fluttering stomachs. An overwhelmed, desperate boy stuck in the middle of two decadent embraces.

If he'd been capable of coherent thought he might have thought something frantic about fool's bets and being careful what you wished for, but now his every move only served to bring him back to how utterly he was enveloped.

This was either the highest form of heaven that existed, or the worst kind of torture.

"Hey," Ladybug whispered. The air of her breath ghosted over the shell of his ear and cooled the wet stripe she'd left behind, cutting through the static white noise in his head. She leaned him forward again and started to grind her hips into his, in a slow, dark rhythm suited for muted nightclubs and expensive red wine. Her hand added a firm, guiding pressure to his hip. "Move with me."

And he did, helplessly following the gyration of her hips. He couldn't think, didn't need to think with Ladybug here to call the shots. He let himself fall into it, into the shift and rasp of suit against suit against clothing and skin, into the little whimpers that slipped from Marinette's throat with every press, letting each push break him down further and further and further.

He felt Ladybug's hands start to move again. Marinette's whimpers got higher with every pass. Every so often she'd shiver, or moan, and Chat would feel it echo though his body right back to Ladybug, shuddering through his spine and his gut. She'd respond in her own way, a hum or a purr or a deeper roll of her hips, and _that_ would echo through Chat too in the form of an answering growl or an obedient roll, back into Marinette who would take it and respond — and on and on, back and forth, hypnotic waves with Chat as the sand left to tumble in the rush, the most intimate of conduits used for a sensuous conversation, both the focus of their attention and not the focus at all.

He dimly realized that Ladybug was using him to pleasure Marinette, using him like a tool, like a toy, and the realization sparked a white-hot _rush_ that shot through his limbs like intoxication.

…Except that it wasn't exactly like that. Every so often Ladybug would follow a smooth roll with a soft kiss, peppering affection over the nape of his neck, over the edges of his collar, behind his ears and over his ears. It triggered a shudder or a gasp every time, adding in the little ripples of his reaction to the constant push-pull of the waves already passing between the three of them.

"Mmn," Ladybug murmured thickly, startling Chat out of his trance. " _Belle fille_. Come here."

Chat moved his head, making way for Marinette to push herself up against him. A moment of wordless _what?_ echoed through his mind as Ladybug did the same, letting go of Marinette's hip to cradle her face, and then it _clicked_.

He laid his head on Marinette's shoulder, face turned away and acutely aware that Ladybug and Marinette were kissing right over his shoulder.

The knowledge zinged through his blood, prickly cold-hot- _sharp_ , making the heated pressure at the base of his spine shamefully flare to life.

 _That's right. Marinette had met Ladybug first. She was Ladybug's lover before she was his._

He was the outsider here, the latter addition, the third wheel for all that he was still technically between them, and, indescribably, their moment was a scene not meant for his eyes.

He could hear them, though.

He could hear the soft clicks and slick gasps. Could feel the restless shifting of Marinette's hips and the affected tightening of Ladybug's thighs.

He swallowed.

It wasn't meant for his lust or his enjoyment. It was something perfect, above him, something fantastical and ethereal. He felt guilty, dirty in the face of this, a voyeur and a sinner.

Feeling like that didn't make his head swim any less.

Ladybug murmured into the kiss, something filthy and exotic and intoxicating, and Marinette hummed back, something high and breathy and feminine. Chat was left to listen to the sinfully sweet duet, silent and shaking and forgotten and _unbearably_ turned on.

After an eternity Marinette sank back into his lap in a girly puddle, all kiss-flushed skin and lust-darkened eyes. Chat felt a tight knot of something not quite jealousy and not quite want gather in the pit of his stomach.

Marinette wasn't only his, and it was a very strange thing to be reminded of by someone else's effect.

He didn't have time to study the emotion before Ladybug's forearm came to rest on his shoulder, delicate, red-clad fingers caressing Marinette's cheek.

"So beautiful," she rasped, the clear note of awe in her tone taking that odd knot of emotion and flipping it inside out into something that felt shockingly like _pride_.

He couldn't help but agree, all the same. His eyes fell on Marinette's lips, swollen and dewy, and it occurred to him that if he kissed her now he'd be able to taste Ladybug on those lips.

He licked his own at the thought, and swallowed hard as he realized he could still taste Marinette on him.

(He wondered, faintly, if either of them tasted like _him._ )

He didn't have time to think about _that_ either, because Ladybug chose that moment to tug Marinette towards him, and then he was drowning in the real thing.

The kiss she gave him was soft and firm just like the last, more affection than heat, and he wondered if this slow caress was a side that only Ladybug could bring out. The thought was about as disappointing as he expected, and his chest caved a little despite the fact that he was once again ensnared in the sweetest kind of trap.

The feeling lasted up until Ladybug dropped a kiss onto his nape, touch burning hot and lovingly warm at once, and then he was fighting a whine, heart too big for his chest.

She placed his hand at the small of Marinette's back once again, and this time Chat didn't waste time in drawing his claws over it in meaningless little patterns, pulling a myriad of reactions out of her lithe body, making her shake and clench and suck and bite and _oh, oh, oh—_

Hips guiding him all the while, Ladybug kissed him again, fraying the edges of his mind at the seams as he finally began to truly come undone.

"Such a good kitty," Ladybug said, scraping her teeth lightly over the spot she just kissed. "You did well, Chat. Thank you."

If he'd been standing, if she'd walked up to him after a hard battle fought and won and gave him just those words, just that touch, this would have been the part where his legs gave up for good and left him to swoon into her arms or fall at her feet, whichever she preferred.

As it was, the praise slunk through his marrow, slipping through his viscera, sinking dangerous, dangerous little hooks into his vulnerable heart. It felt better, _far_ better than it had any right to, sweeping him from head to toe and straight off his feet, twitching his hips out of rhythm with the force of it.

He could feel the clench of Ladybug's forearm where it rested on his shoulder, and that was how he knew she was the one who broke the kiss with a hand in Marinette's hair. The thought winded him yet again, leaving him to lean back, dazed and waiting.

Ladybug immediately used her grip to bring Marinette to her, so Chat dropped his head to the side once more, thinking she was going to kiss her again (and _fuck_ if the thought didn't burn in his mind like _kerosene_ ).

Instead, she brought Marinette's face to his newly exposed neck, nudging her own nose into the other, much less exposed side.

Chat lifted his head automatically, choking on a gasp as the two chose the exact same moment to open their mouths and _suck_.

It was at that point that Ladybug let go of his hip, and the last threads holding Chat to her rhythm broke down. He didn't give into the urge to rut so much as the urge forcibly sucked him under while he was too weak to resist, but the effect was the same: Marinette whined against his neck as he thrust against the sweet cradle of heat between her thighs, grinding back into him with a breathy groan and a whimper; he tried to give way to her just as Ladybug rocked forward, the push of her hips forcing his even harder into Marinette. It was nearly, nearly enough to completely undo him, and far more than enough to wrench a strangled shout from somewhere deep inside his chest.

Marinette sank her teeth into him and pleasure-pain sparked behind his eyes as he moaned, so far gone just about _anything_ would feel good.

Yet Ladybug fisted her hand in Marinette's hair, tugging it in gentle reprimand. "Tongue, _belle fille_ , not teeth."

The unexpected consideration blindsided Chat, left him floating and unmoored at the realization that, somehow, he'd been reading this all wrong. That somehow he wasn't the outsider here, that he didn't exist in this space purely for Marinette's pleasure. It was a disconcerting discovery, one that removed him just far enough from the here and now that the sound of Ladybug's voice and the touch of Marinette's tongue brought him back with a thump.

"There you go," Ladybug purred. The noise vibrated against his skin, penetrating his flesh and bone and marrow, aching in its intensity. "Now suck, just here."

She finished the statement with a brush of her fingers against a spot on his neck, between his tendons and collarbone. He had just enough time to realize what was about to happen — just enough time to think, in horror and delight, _oh fuck_ — and then Marinette's eager mouth was chasing the spot before Ladybug had even removed her fingers.

Ladybug in turn settled her lips on a place close to his nape, and things got very fuzzy and very clear all at once for Chat.

His hips bucked helplessly at the twin brands fused to either side of his neck, at the hands suddenly disentangled from one another and now entangled with _him_ , at the slide and press and grind of being sandwiched groin-to-neck between the two most attractive people he'd ever met. They moved with him, despite the stuttering, slip-sliding flesh in clothing as their hips and stomachs chased his, and the heat that had been building in the base of his spine from the very beginning flared scalding hot and immediate with every touch.

He was realizing that being the singular focus of both of them was far, _far_ more than he could take.

And then Ladybug said, "His ears, like I told you."

Someone whined. Chat thought that it might have been him.

She released his neck with a final suck and nuzzled her way up to the hollow of his jaw, littering meandering kisses over every inch of exposed flesh, and nipped the skin there lightly at the exact moment Marinette didn't release him so much as trail her sucks straight up to his ear.

He had a single moment of grace, in which his world spun wildly off its axis and failed to right itself in any sane manner, before Ladybug passed some sort of signal to Marinette.

They took his earlobes into their mouths in perfect synchronization and nipped, dragging teeth over the hypersensitive edges and _sucking_.

He heard himself shout very distantly through the heady fog of _oh god oh god_ _ **oh god**_ , the heat crashing down around his head, the whiting-out of his entire world—

Adrien's eyes flew open, his back arching off the bed on the tail end of _whatever_ had just hit him like a truck.

He stared at the ceiling with a blank gaze, chest heaving, dimly aware of the sweat trickling down his skin as he waited for existing to make sense again. For his heart to slow its rapid beating and his lungs to stop grasping for air.

The ceiling was his ceiling.

In his room.

Not Marinette's.

 _Fuck._

He took several deep breaths and ground the heels of his (shaking) palms into his eyes, limbs heavy with something that almost felt like afterglow as the feelings of twin bodies pressed warm and flush against his faded like ghosts. Tangled sheets and uncomfortably damp pajamas took their place, and he would have grimaced if he'd had the ability to do so.

What. The _fuck_. Was that.


	16. Forehead Kiss

**Rating: soft T**

* * *

Forehead Kiss:

"Ladybug."

She turned, quiet patrol interrupted by the unnerving note of seriousness in his voice. She swallowed minutely before asking, "Yeah?"

"Listen... I..."

And that was when she knew how this was going to end.

She let him go on, though, because running wouldn't solve her problem this time. She had to let him speak, had to stand strong in the face of this tectonic shift, had to bear this uprooting of her world.

She'd been running from this for far too long.

He looked up at her with stars in his eyes and said, "I love you."

And just like that, her sky came down.

"I've always loved you. You mean the world to me and..."

Her heart lurched painfully.

This was happening. This was real and it was happening and she couldn't...

He breathed deep. "And I want to know, if I asked you out, would you give me a chance?"

She couldn't.

The entire speech felt well-rehearsed, like he'd stood in front of a mirror for days to get it right, to make sure he didn't forget it in his nerves, and it's just one more little thing to weigh on this moment, weigh on her heart, weigh on her tongue to try to keep it from its inevitable answer.

"I'm—" she tried, choked and wavering and horribly, horribly weak. She'd run and she'd run and she'd run from the truth, from the fact that they both wanted very different things out of this partnership. From the plain fact that he loved her.

He loved her.

Ladybug wanted to cry.

She didn't, but she wanted to.

"I'm sorry, Chat."

She almost couldn't bear to look, almost, but she did, because he was her partner and he deserved that much, at least.

He was also her best friend, and doing this felt like sticking a knife through his ribs.

"I'm not... I don't think of you that way." _And you know it._

He was unsurprised, and, somehow, his heartbroken smile hurt worse than anger or denial ever could have.

They were acting in a play, pieces falling where they were destined to fall, a train following a one-way track, a relationship flowing to its inevitable conclusion.

She hadn't thought rejecting someone could hurt this bad.

"And you can't? Ever?" It sounded like it should have been pleading, but all she heard was resignation.

He'd known how this was going to end too.

She pivoted, right on cue, and took two measured steps away.

"I'm..."

And that was where the script stuck in her throat.

This was where she said, 'I love someone else.'

This was where she said, 'We wouldn't work.'

This was where she said, 'We have other responsibilities.'

This was where she walked away.

She couldn't do it.

He was her best friend and she was _hurting him_.

She turned back to find that he'd followed her, his expression unchanged. He still wasn't pleading, he'd followed her just like he always did — to help, to protect, to share in her burden — and it killed her.

She was hurting him, and he would still follow her to the ends of the Earth without a second thought.

"I'm sorry," she said again, because it needed to be said. Words could never ease this, she knew, but it needed to be said, no matter how futile.

She didn't love him the way he wanted, but _god_ did she love him.

He shook his head, still smiling that broken little smile, and broke the script himself.

This was where he said, 'But why not?!'

This was where he said, 'But I love you!'

This was where he said, 'Please, just give me a chance!'

This was where he chased her, begging and pleading and cajoling.

But he knew her.

He loved her.

And instead he closed his eyes and said, "I know."

She reached out in spite of herself, remembering inches from his face that her touch probably wouldn't be welcome at the moment.

"I knew you were going to say that. I just..." He shook his head, corner of his mouth trembling, and looked at her with green eyes that were no longer laughing. "I love you, and I had to try."

"Yeah," she agreed numbly, hand floating in the space between them, aching, _aching_ to touch him, hold him, comfort him _somehow_.

Would it really be so bad to accept him? she wondered. Would it be so bad to take it back, to kiss him, to chase that shadow from his eyes for even just a moment?

Would it be so bad to pretend?

She knew the answer to that, and it stilled her tongue, even as she couldn't help inching closer.

He made a noise that was too much of a sob to be a laugh and too much of a laugh to be a sob and leaned into her, just a little bit, which was all the permission she needed to throw her arms around him and hold him tight.

She bit down on the rush of apologies as they threatened to spill out, focusing instead on the hard muscle beneath her palms and the almost preternatural heat he gave off, her eyes stinging.

He held her just as tightly, crushing her smaller body to him without a thought for their enhanced strength. He nuzzled her hair, and she pretended she couldn't feel the hitches in his breathing.

They stayed like that until their alarms started beeping — not their Miraculous timers, but their patrol alarms — and then Ladybug forced herself to draw back.

Impulsively, she smoothed aside his hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead, trying to convey the hundred-and-one things she couldn't voice with that touch.

And when she pulled back, he looked at her like he'd heard them all.

"I'll be okay," he promised softly.

She believed him.

She rocked a step back and held out her hand.

He took it.

Maybe she hadn't known how this was going to end after all.


	17. Underwater Kiss

_S'il vous plaît_ = please (polite)  
 _apprends moi_ = teach me  
 _prends moi_ = take me  
 _beau gosse_ = approximately 'good-looking kid' or 'stud' (what marinette calls adrien instead of 'hot stuff' in the french dub)

 **Rating: T**

* * *

18: Underwater Kiss

Ladybug took stock of the situation:

The three of them (her, Chat, and the akuma) had been thrown into a town square of sorts: an open space that was now surrounded by walls of water on all sides. Geyser had taken a break from blasting powerful waterspouts at them to pose and laugh maniacally, but still wasn't wearing any obvious accessories or objects that she could see.

The city at large (or what she could see of it, at least) had been turned into an elaborate deathtrap of a water-park-slash-fountain-showcase. Their attempt to curb the flooding by Cataclysming the public fountain that Geyser had designed had backfired, simply allowing more water to burst forth from beneath Paris' paved streets. And Chat...

Chat was casting nervous, wincing glances at the last flickering light of his Miraculous.

A hot ball of panic dropped into Ladybug's stomach.

There was no safe place for him to release his transformation here.

She shoved off the iron lamppost she'd claimed as a perch, crashing into Chat before she'd thought much more beyond _shit we're way out in the open_ , and tackling him _through_ the large wall of water on the far side of the square.

They came to to a rolling stop just as Chat's Miraculous gave its last shrill beep. Ladybug dropped on him like she would on a grenade, green light searing into the backs of her eyeballs despite her best efforts.

Leather ears dissolved under her fingers with a crackle of magic, a faint wisp of ozone and burnt dust tickled her throat, and then it wasn't Chat Noir - dork, flirt, and local celebrity - in her arms, but Adrien Agreste: dork, flirt, and local celebrity.

He wrapped his arms around her before she could let him up, nose skimming her suit and brushing her sternum.

"Thanks for the save," he mumbled, squeezing her a little tighter, ignoring that the dryness his detransformation had granted him was quickly being undone by the way he nuzzled her wet suit.

"'Course," Ladybug mumbled back, patting his hair and trying to determine where they'd landed. "But let go or you're gonna get wet."

Reluctantly, he let her go, and she peeled herself away with an effort, collapsing to sit beside him. They'd rolled into some kind of alcove or decorative overhang set into the wall of a building. Now sealed off from the rest of the square by water, it had a hidden grotto feeling to it, like ducking behind a waterfall. If she listened hard, she could make out the faint ranting of Geyser's voice as the akuma yelled for them to come out of hiding. Rather than grant the request, Ladybug settled a little closer to Adrien.

He was so _warm_.

Plagg apparently deemed that this meant it was his turn. He flew into her lap, pushing himself into her hands and melting over her thigh.

"So... _hungry..._ "

She giggled, scritching her partner's kwami behind the ears while Adrien sighed and dug cheese out of his pocket (and _wow,_ had so many things made sense after his identity reveal - why Adrien wrinkled his nose at every cheese gift and yet never stopped smelling like it, for one). Rather than attempting to feed Plagg himself, he handed it over to her. Plagg purred and delicately nibbled the cheese from her fingers, as he always did whenever she fed him.

It made for an incredibly peaceful tableau, really - the water falling in sheets around the overhang, casting the small space in a blue glow; a catlike kind-of-god purring in her lap; her partner lowering himself against the wall (in his nicely fitted jeans) and watching the scene with her.

It was too bad there was an akuma out there.

Adrien shook his head, stay drops of water flying free and ghosting against her face like a mist, then ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back messy and disheveled with a devil-may-care grin.

She debated whether she should stop him before he got started.

"Well, now that we've seen what gets _me_ wet-"

"Water will do that, I've noticed," she interrupted, with no real hope (or wish, if she was being _very_ honest) to derail where this was going.

"-I admit that I'm curious-"

"Curious," she echoed, setting her chin in her palm and telling herself she wasn't smiling, that her gut wasn't curling in anticipation.

"As a cat," he assured her cheerily, and Ladybug bit her lip as she facepalmed, waiting for the drop. "About what it takes to get _you_ wet."

 _There_ it was.

(That particular combination of cocky and disheveled was a good start, not that she'd ever tell him that.)

She flicked her still-dripping fingers at him, insides pleasantly tight and warm. "Waterfalls are pretty equal-opportunity, you know."

He wrinkled his nose and pouted, and she laughed, going back to scratching his kwami behind the ears as she ran out of cheese. Plagg purred a little more, grumpy looks over her encouragement of Adrien's flirting fading into nothing as she found a good spot.

"You're gonna have to work harder than that, hot stuff," she teased, tapping his nose with one finger.

Adrien stilled, pupils dilating and a flush gathering in his cheeks the same way it always did when she used that nickname.

(She was pretty sure he thought she was just making fun of his newly discovered model status, but he still blushed _like that_ , and it frustrated and flattered her in equal measure.)

"How?" he finally asked, unfreezing to mirror her pose, legs folded and chin in hand. The worst of his flush faded, but the color still lingered in his cheeks, pink dusting his skin. There was honest confusion and a sliver of defeat in the question, and it gave her pause. "It's not like I haven't been trying."

Which... was true.

Ladybug considered, staring off into the sheeting water outside their shelter and scratching Plagg until he rattled a purr against her knee.

"Well," she suggested, almost but not quite joking herself. "You could always ask _very_ nicely."

The spark that entered his darkened eyes was hypnotic, holding her in place while he leaned forward with a mischievous grin - or at least, that was what she planned to tell any potential witnesses.

Of course she wouldn't let him get that close of her own free will.

Obviously.

(That she constantly, _constantly_ craved to touch him lately had nothing to do with it.)

(It wasn't discovering that Chat was her lycée crush that was the problem. Rather, her learning his identity had washed away some unnoticed layer of false bravado that seemed to have been keeping them at arm's length.

She hadn't realized it before, but _now..._

None of his acts, lines, or smiles rang false on _any_ level anymore, and it was _getting_ to her.)

"Well then," he said when he was less than a foot away. He tilted another rakish grin. "Pretty please, my Ladybug, won't you tell me how to please you?"

(Like that one.)

Ladybug's skin flashed hot all over. Her cheeks tingled tellingly, and she averted her eyes so she didn't have to see the gleam of awed delight that entered his.

" _S'il vous plaît,_ " Adrien continued, not quite a sigh and not quite a purr, but something coy and low and flirty in between that she appreciated on a visceral level. "A-"

She looked up, amused and _wanting_ , and his voice stuttered mid-word.

"-h... prends _moi._ "

Then he clapped a hand over his mouth, blush going from faint pink to bright scarlet.

Ladybug's jaw dropped.

" _Apprends_!" Adrien squeaked, mortified, jerking back. " _Apprends_ -! _Ap_... _prends_... _moi_ \- That's... not actually much better, is it."

As he rambled on, Ladybug took a moment to recover from the system shock of hearing her partner asking her to-

To...

Ladybug licked her lips, fire dancing in her core and questionable decisions on her mind.

Then reached out to place her fingers under his chin, halting his stream of babble, and smirked just _so._

Adrien swallowed audibly.

"Why, kitten, does that mean you _don't_ want me to take you?"

Adrien _stared_.

Ladybug wondered why she'd even _opened her mouth._

Three seconds ticked by with no sound but the rush of water and Plagg's fake snoring. Ladybug was just realizing that she should probably let go when Adrien spoke.

"Both," he said, crackling raw and barely there. "Both is good."

Ladybug sucked in a breath.

"...Did you just meme at me?"

Guilty silence, and then: "...Maybe?"

Ladybug groaned and buried her face in her hands, the moment gone.

 _Why_ did she love this doofus again?

She could hear Adrien laughing at her reaction, or maybe at his own joke, breathless little bubbles of noise floating around their space. His warm fingers brushed her forehead and smoothed a long, soaked lock of hair away from her temple, infinitely tender.

And Ladybug thought, _Oh._

 _That's why._

When she lifted her eyes, she was met with a look of such intense, unabashed adoration that she nearly hid again in self-defense.

(Open, open, he was so _open_ now, and it was _killing_ her.)

Her only other options were to keep talking (flirting), run, or give in and actually kiss him.

She went with the option least likely to destroy her.

"So," she drawled, careful not to dislodge Plagg as she leaned back into Adrien's space. "You want me to teach you-" She reached out again, stroking his jaw this time. "-how to please me..."

His breath hitched as she reached his chin, escaping in a little rush over her still-damp fingers as she stroked his lip.

"...And you want me to _take_ you..."

He whined, a noise that she could feel building in his throat long before she heard it, and it shot straight to her core.

"...And you haven't even asked for a kiss yet?" She finished, rough and quiet. She swiped the pad of her thumb back over his lip, receiving a shuddering gasp in return. "Doesn't that seem a little... backwards to you?"

Adrien stared at her with wide, dazed eyes, lips flushed and parted under her touch.

Belatedly, Ladybug remembered that she wanted to go with the option that was _less_ likely to destroy her.

Oops.

"Pretty please, my Ladybug," he whispered, enchanted and _enchanting_ , brushing her fingers with every movement. "Can I have a kiss?"

Ladybug held out for all of two seconds before that look snapped her control like brittle kindling.

Her lips met with the brief resistance of a surprised groan, and then he was opening up to her onslaught, squeezing her elbow and clumsily trying to pull her closer.

His mouth was wet, warm, slick and sweet. A shudder ran through him when she touched her tongue to his - a shudder that turned into a moan when she dug her fingers into his damp hair, rolling out of her crouch to press him against the wall of their shelter.

His moan slipped down her throat, slipped into her gut, slipped into her blood. It pulled a ferocity out of her she hadn't known existed, an empty hunger that demanded touch, touch, _touch._

She fed it, dragging her fingertips down his nape and pushing a palm under the hem of his shirt, wishing she could break away long enough to detransform so she could _feel_ him. But something in her rebelled against parting for even that long, especially when his lips and teeth and tongue felt like _this._

Adrien kissed her with equal fervor, kissed her like a last hope - desperation and reverence and adoration and gratitude - and Ladybug got lost in the feeling, shuddering, breathy sighs escaping her on every exhale.

The reverence got her the worst: the gentleness with which he pulled her closer, the faint _my lady_ he mewled into her mouth, the careful press of his hands cupping her sides. It left her dizzy, made it so she couldn't tell if her rougher, clumsier ministrations were borne from frustration or the sheer volume of emotion he was invoking in her.

"'Love you," he rasped between kisses, the tone alone enough to make her whimper and lurch closer. "My lady, Ladybug, _Ladybug-_ "

By the time they pulled apart for air she was half in his lap and he was half in hers, a tangle of limbs that pinned him tight against the stucco wall behind him. Both of them were as flushed and winded as marathon runners.

"Finally..." someone not-Adrien grumbled in the distance.

Ladybug hiccuped a laugh, summer-sweet and feeling like heaven, resting her forehead against Adrien's as they caught their breath.

"See?" she said, quiet and wavering and tasting his breath on every inhale. "It's amazing what asking nicely can do."

"There's an aaaaakuma," Plagg drawled from somewhere to her right.

"Hmm," Adrien agreed, pulling his forehead away from hers so he could brush her nose with a kiss.

She giggled again, warm from the tips of her ears to the tips of her toes.

"Do you two just... not care about the city at all, or what."

"So tell me, hot stuff," Ladybug murmured, because, as much as she hated to admit it, Plagg was right. She gave Adrien a crooked smirk. "What are you doing tonight?"

Adrien buried his face in his hands, but not before she spied an uptick in the corner of his mouth. "Do you _have_ to call me that?"

"Hmmmm," Ladybug considered, cocking her head to the other side and trying to peek around his hands. His ears were bright red. "Handsome boy?"

He groaned softly, ears turning even redder, and her stomach flipped over in excitement.

" _Beau gosse_ ," she half-sang, running two fingers up his bare forearm from the crook of his elbow to his wrist.

She bit her lip, watching goosebumps raise on his skin around her touch, and loosely circled her fingers around his wrist. His arms fell away from his face, revealing one furiously blushing handsome boy with an awkward half-suppressed grin bitten down around the corners of his mouth.

"I'll stop when you stop smiling over it," she offered generously, because she thought it would be worth it even if he just kept blushing.

Then tacked on, "Hot stuff," just because she couldn't resist.

He looked at her and glanced away, neither gesture enough to hide the flattered grin that broke free of its confines.

Ladybug flat-out _melted._

"Cutie," she said, hopelessly charmed at the way he squirmed in pleasure. "Pretty kitty. _Mon beau_."

"C-careful," he said, unable to look at her but grin staying firmly in place. "Or I might start to think you like my face."

She tapped his nose, because she couldn't _not._

"I've always liked your face," she admitted softly. "Even half-covered, it's a very handsome face."

And it was. It was the constant showing off that she hadn't been so sure about.

Adrien's blush now dipped below his collar, he was so red. Ladybug was very, very tempted to see what other kinds of reactions more praise might garner, but Plagg chose that moment to fly up and point dramatically out into the water, shouting, "Oh look, _there's the akuma!_ "

Ladybug gave in to necessity.

Sighing and clambering to her feet, she offered Adrien a hand up, scrubbing her face and stretching when he turned it down with an unsteady wave.

"You never did tell me what you're doing tonight," she noted casually.

When she glanced behind her, she saw Adrien swallowing, his green eyes wandering slowly up her body. He glanced away when he met her eye, hooking a finger in his collar and tugging it away from his throat.

"Nothing I can't cancel if... if you wanted to..."

Impulsively, Ladybug leaned over with her hands on her knees and arched her back, tasting victory in a sharp rush when his eyes snapped back to her, wide and flustered.

"Wrong answer," she singsonged, grinning at him over her shoulder.

He blinked at her, baffled.

"The right answer is 'me.'"

Adrien _choked_ , and Ladybug plunged back out to the battle to the sweet sound of his incoherent spluttering, enthusiasm restored.

She had akuma ass to kick.

It wouldn't do to be late to her date, after all.

(Granted, akuma ass kicking would have been easier if Chat could look directly at her without going bright red and stuttering over whatever he'd been trying to say.

Or if she hadn't exacerbated that by leaning into his space with a flirty grin whenever he was close enough, murmuring another compliment at every opportunity.

Oh well.

It was totally worth it.)


End file.
